


Feeding the Sea with Ghosts

by cmorgana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Because I've a soft spot for those two, Canon-Typical Violence, Clairmont/Brujon, M/M, Pirates AU, probably sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11967339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmorgana/pseuds/cmorgana
Summary: After months of a ship driving the King of France crazy, Athos is sent to do something...aka asking another pirate captain for his help. But soon they all find out that the ship robbing the King of France isn't their real problem, because now there's someone a lot more dangerous and cruel wanting to destroy the frail peace between France and Spain.Or......a complicate and long plot just to have a pirate Aramis





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, since everyone will probably ask: no, I don't watch Black Sails and that's not inspired by it.  
> Actually I know it's not exactly piratery and that probably a lot of details are wrong, but I also tried to give a lighter tone in contrast with the dark themes, so...yeah, you'll have good pirates, and women pirates...and pretty bad and evil ones. Don't expect historical details, I tried not to put too much real History in this fic, or I should have butchered it. 
> 
> WARNING: in this fic PROSTITUTION and NON-CON will be mentioned since there's MILADY and she'll talk about her past after Olivier. Obviously Thomas death will be mentioned too. In the firsts chapters will be mentioned BLACK SLAVERY and SLAVERY related to PORTHOS, but I tried to keep it at a minimum and light, it isn't a topic I want to discuss in a fic, it was only needed for later chapters. Other nasty things will be mentioned, because we all know Grimaud is a nasty, devious and evil person. Since it's all pretty canon I didn't put them in the tags, but I think they're needed warnings anyway. 
> 
> Once more this fic only exists because of [Cordelia69](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia69) who is always up to bear with me, with the sudden changes of plot, messages in the middle of the night and who's the reason I keep writing instead than just watch at white pages. She also edited this for me, any mistakes you'll see probably are because I changed something after she sent it back. I'm bad like that. Thank you, darling <3

**PROLOGUE**

Light. Light is prominent in the room, filling every corner of it, with every shade of yellow and orange, and still, it looks as if it points directly on the King and His Queen, like a game of torches in a theatre.

Athos knows is just a feeling, that the huge windows are just that, squares of glass, and that the two persons in front of them, even if crowned by God's will, are after all just that: persons. Yet everyone around him seems to forget that too often.

Still, that day, with the summer evening approaching and the air a little too hot, they both look so angry that God's wrath itself seems to show through them. Actually, Athos is almost amazed that the sky isn't as dark and tempestuous as their faces.

"…so, please, Cardinal, tell me you have an explanation", Athos gets his attention back to the King, still talking, not even a request in his tone, just a threatening statement to the man in front of him.

Richelieu doesn't show any sign of nervousness at the strict tone, but the little gulp before he speaks is one of his tiny gestures, by now known by all, when he doesn't have a straight answer for his King and knows he's about to make him even angrier.

"We're doing everything in our power, your Majesties, but the pirates on that ship seem to be more clever than we thought such people can be, I promise…"

"Cardinal, we don't need your promises, we need them dead and away from our coasts" it's the Queen who interrupts him to take the word, and Athos is almost confused by her angry tone. Queen Anne never raises her voice, she never shows strong emotions and mostly, in official situations like that, she just sits by her husband, without intervening.

"You're perfectly right, your Majesty, and I'll soon dispatch more men to search and attack their ship, it's just a matter of time and you'll see them hang," Richelieu offers again, obviously trying to find a way out of a situation he has no control over.

"We no longer want to hear that it's about time! We want it done now, Cardinal, at cost of dispatching the whole French army after them! The last ship they attacked was the King of Spain, from your Queen brother, with a shipment of precious gifts coming from the most exotic places, just for us! Those pirates directly damaged us, no longer the ships coming to France, they outraged the Crown and they must hang. Now!" the king finishes his speech with a fist on the armrest, and everyone flinched.

It's bad, very bad, to make the King act like that, he's usually sort of calm, even when demanding something on a whim or when one of his caprices come up. But Athos has never seen him really angry, never before such a storm has been in his eyes.

"Forgive me, your Majesties, I'll provide to it right away," the Cardinal says more subdued than usual, obviously worried too by the strong reaction of the King.

"Treville, if you don't have better news it's time you go train my Musketeers to fight pirates instead than drink themselves unconscious in some tavern," for a second the King glances at Athos, but then he looks Treville from feet to head before covering his face with a hand and sighing.

From there on is quick bows and subdued footsteps while the Monarchs look them getting out of the room. Just when they're in a discreet and empty corridor, away from the too many ears that lately seem to refer too much directly to the King, Richelieu stops, turning toward Treville, who acts as if he's waiting for exactly that.

"How far are we from catching them?" the Cardinal asks, angry and apparently exhausted, he has probably missed another night of sleep, and that morning he's been called at court very early for the pirates emergency, which kept him from his usual morning nap, by now even Athos has learnt to read the signs of sleep deprivation on Richelieu, just to know when to stay far away from him.

"Honestly? We are where we started at," Treville answers, resigned, while Richelieu rubs his pulsing temples, "half my men tried to catch them, I even infiltrated a few of them in ports, but I could get nothing. Not even a name. That ship is basically a ghost, Cardinal, it comes and goes leaving no trace, it never docks in a French port…"

"Yes, yes, I know all that, no need to repeat to me how better than us those criminals are," the Cardinal cuts Treville short, "still, we need a solution or we won't remain in the King's graces for much longer, at that not even in his prison, we'll probably just hang in front of the scum of Paris, and that's not in my future plans."

"I may have an idea", Athos says for the first time, interrupting them and ignoring the Cardinal glare, "we should fight them with the same arm, they're pirate, we get pirates" Richelieu snorts at that.

"Sure, let me call one of the thousand pirate ships that answer to France…oh, no, sorry, there are none at the moment", the Cardinal mocks, but Athos ignores him, locking gazes with Treville. His captain must know that his ideas, the most absurd ones, rarely fail.

Except one. The most important, but Athos takes a breath to shove away that intrusive thought. Not now.

"How would you do that?" Treville enquires, with a glance at Richelieu.

"Remember that ship we heard was causing a lot of problems to Spain? There are rumors that it's coming back to France, I could ask for their help in exchange for a free pass in our ports signed by the Cardinal," he explains

"And why should they be interested? They're pirates," Richelieu objects immediately, but Athos shakes his head.

"If the rumors are true Spain is very close to getting them, a safe port could be exactly what they need, to hide. An exchange of favors, as to say"

"What if things go wrong?" Treville interrupts the Cardinal before he can object again.

"It won't be the first pistol ball in my body, hopefully not even the last Athos replies without even flinching. He doesn't really care if he lives or dies, not after the huge fail of his last mission, not after the loss of…

"Athos, if you're thinking what I suspect…"

"I…it's a possibility. I could get one chance, one try, off the books, France will never be a part of that.."

"Monsieurs, if you're done talking about private ghosts, I'd love to put an end to that pirates tragedy and go back to my normal life. I have no doubts about the huge failure that this plan will be, but it'll just be a failed attempt and a dead Musketeer, nothing I can't easily clean up. They'll have my signature when I'll have my dead pirates," for a moment Athos feels like asking Richelieu what could guarantee that he'll get that pass, that whoever is going to help him won't end up hanged too, but for once he stops his tongue. He can't tell something like that to the Cardinal, he can't doubt his word and get out alive, and alive is what he needs if he has a chance to make up for his mistakes.

"Athos, are you sure…?" Treville asks again, probably cursing Richelieu's approval, but Athos just nods. In the worst case, he's going to get killed, for the better…no, he's not ready to wonder of a better case, it's too soon, he won't jinx it.

**

It's dark in the underground tunnels, pitch black, the kind of shadows that drives a man to think the Gates of Hell are going to appear and swallow him forever. The shadows used by the worst demons to travel from place to place. The dark of nightmares, the ones only a few men, brave or stupid enough, could afford without shivering in fear.

One of the two men in the little room is apparently one of them, uncaring of having his back exposed to that fearful black, almost relaxed as if he himself belongs to that shadow world. The other, instead, clad in his expensive brocades and velvets, keeps watching at his back, in the nothingness of the darkness, as if waiting for the Devil himself to come and drag him to Hell like he probably deserves.

"It will never be official, no name must ever be done, not even under torture, no one even paid you to get rid of that ship and her crew, is that clear?" the rich man repeats again, trying to be menacing, unsuspecting of the fact that the man in front of him is a thousand times more dangerous than the shadows at his back.

"I told you, I care nothing about who wants what, I only want my money, my share of power, and the men I asked to complete the mission. It won't be a problem, they'll all be dead before you can lie to your God at the next Sunday Mass," the man comments, wrapped in his dark cloak, only the brown eyes showed, lightened by the fire of the torch, brilliant.

"One can never be sure with people like you," the first man insults, but the other just laughs, uncaring for the honour. While the laughter still bounces off the old walls, echoing, he blows the torch out and he's gone even before the nobleman can start to panic.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm posting so late, but I was alone at the office and OBVIOUSLY one of the most absurd problems ever decided to pay me a visit...I promise I'll be in time next time, I didn't forget about this fic!

To the eyes of a random passerby, the patrons of a low-class tavern may all seem the same everywhere. Soldiers, thieves, peasants, and everyone else in the middle who can only afford dirty glasses and watered wine in a smelly and dark shack. To Athos, instead, in every quarter of Paris, or village, the people are very different, his eyes trained by years of being a drunk patron himself and by a few of being a musketeer. 

Today, in that small village, half a day north east of Le Havre, the men at the wobbly old tables are totally dissimilar to the ones he's used seeing in Paris. The smell of an over populated, dirty, the city is replaced by the smell of the sea, of the fishes those men have just caught, of the wood of the old boats. What hits him more, however, is the neat difference between the workers and the others, living on a light thread between legality and prison. It's more obvious than in Paris, where everyone, given the situation, could turn into a thief any day. There the criminals stand out like a sore thumb and even a kid could have pointed out who obviously was a pirate, or at least has been for a while. 

On the other hand, the man he's searching for is one of the less obvious, calm in an isolated corner, no prostitutes or cards at his table, just a dusty bottle of wine and some maps. Athos studies him for a few seconds, grateful of the accurate description that he's been given, and just for a moment, he thinks that it hasn't made the man justice.

The Captain is more or less his age, shoulder length hair kept in a little ponytail, dressed only in common leather pants and a white shirt, flimsy on the elbows, laces on his chest apparently ripped long before by how it stands open. A few scars on his face don't hide the gentle and nice features or the warmth of the brown eyes. Except Athos knows there can't be real warmth in the eyes of a pirate, a ruthless and cold assassin. Someone so similar to him, just on the other side of the law. 

Without a word, Athos crosses the small room and sits at the man's table, straight across from him. The pirate raises his eyebrows but says nothing.

"I've been told you're Aramis," he states in a calm voice, placing the hat on the table. 

"I wonder who told you such a thing," the man tone is as calm as Athos', the expression controlled, hand still around the glass. 

"It isn't polite to make names, you especially should know."

"I'm still not sure why you're so sure I'm this… Aramis, but if I am, I'd be a notorious pirate, why should I care about being courteous?"

"Simply because I well know that even being outlaws and assassins pirates have a strict moral code, and you wouldn't betray someone who helped you. So…" but the man stops him. 

"I still haven't told you if I am this… Aramis… and you already accuse me of being a pirate, that's not polite either, just so you know," Athos nods with a sigh.

"I've been told I could recognize you by the eyes and the scars on your face. The scars are pretty common around here, but the eyes…" once more the man interrupts him, ignoring Athos' glare. He takes a sip of the wine, smiling over the rim of the glass. 

"It's always good to get a compliment, I'm glad you like my eyes," he jokes at Athos expenses, and for a second Athos gets actually distracted by the glint in the eyes that are starting to be the topic of their discussion, but soon he just shakes his head, going back to his mission, to the reason for that encounter. 

"So, Aramis," he emphasizes his name, not leaving space to doubt he's not sure of his identity, "let's not lose even more time. What I've also been told is that yours is one of the best ships around here and that you dislike Spain almost as much as our King," but at that Aramis puts down the glass with a little too much force, the thud echoing high in the almost empty room.

"The King. No one comes to me talking about the King. Who are you?" 

"I'm Athos, I'm a King's Musketeer," Athos states, loud and clear, uncaring of any possible reaction. He's on a mission for his Country and, more important, on a personal one to fix his worst mistake, he isn't going to jeopardize everything by lying on his identity.

"Maybe you didn't notice, but I'm not exactly the kind of man to be friends with soldiers and law," Aramis hisses, but Athos just ignores him, he grabs his glass to drink the remains of Aramis' wine, "you also seem a stupid musketeer, by the look of it. Luckily I've got my pistol pointed at your groin from the moment you stepped in that hole. It's a bad death, you'll agonize for days," Aramis threatens.

"Then you know you don't want to try the blade I'm pointing at yours from the moment I sat at your table," Athos answers placidly, he pours some more wine, then makes the blade clink against the table, "so, now that we're also over the pleasantries, can we discuss our arrangement?" he keeps going as if it the threatens have been really nothing more than a normal exchange. He drops his blade on the table, and Aramis looks at it. 

Aramis must admit he's never met a soldier like that, with no fear and attached to his role, maybe it's true that the musketeers are the best of the best. Maybe that Athos is just another of those corpses someone will fish out of the water within the week. In both cases, he's curious to know why someone like him is searching for a pact with a pirate instead than just for his head. 

"Alright, let's hear what you want.”

**

Athos' accounting is smooth, with enough details to make the situation clear but not enough to reveal how big a problem the pirates robbing the Crown really are. He lays on the table the sheet with the amount of money and the free pass offered by the Cardinal and then just rests back on his chair, waiting for Aramis to take a decision. 

"So you want me and my crew to go against other pirates, give them to you, get every other Spanish pirate against us, for a few coins and a safe pass?" 

"Exactly what I'm offering," Athos states, folding the sheet and putting it back in his pocket, "and it's also what I expect you to accept".

"And why should you expect that? Because of my nice eyes?" Aramis smirks, and Athos almost laughs for a second, with mirth instead than sarcasm. 

"See, you're a pirate, Captain of a pirate ship, still you don't seem to act like one. You don't work for a State as mostly every other pirate, but your ship always docks on French soil, which makes me think you have something personal against Spain and you're not interested in England. That said I suspect that you may like to make land safely wherever you want in France, instead than to find soldiers every time you try to get off your boat to get a whiff of stale wine," Athos concludes, spilling the remaining wine in the glass over the table. 

Aramis nods, thinking, then wets a finger in the red liquid and sucks on it. 

"You're blackmailing me, I like someone who's sure enough to have the upper hand to openly blackmail me. The question is: do you really have the upper hand? Is a sign from your precious Cardinal enough to save your life? I could kill you right now, that would be a good reply to your Minister and your King, don't you think?" 

It's Athos turn to nod. He knows it's true, he's left Paris knowing that Aramis could kill him even before listening to the whole offer, but by that point, he's starting to think he really has the upper hand, that Aramis will actually accept. 

"I just want the Captain alive, with the others, the ship and whatever they have you can do what you want. And you'll hurt Spain, I'm pretty sure that's where our gold is going"

No one speaks for a few, tense, seconds, Aramis gets his pistol out from under the table and plays with it, Athos just stays still, waiting, until, finally, Aramis nods. 

"I accept, you can come back on the ship with me and we'll take those pirates. No need to say I'll kill you the second you make a wrong move"

"Good, I'm grateful. But before we go I've something else to ask, more personal, but that I think you and your men could enjoy", Athos says and he can see the moment Aramis gaze lights up once more with curiosity. 

**

Athos is at the stern of the ship, gunwale a few steps from him like it could give out and let him fall into the sea just by getting too close. He's trying to think, to revise the plan Aramis has told him about a few hours before, but his head feels foggy, fuzzy, unable to focus for more than a few seconds. He inhales the salty water, breathing in it, but not even the humid cold pervading his lungs seems to help. 

"I see someone's body disagrees with the sea," Aramis comes in behind him, joking, and Athos turns with a glare that he's sure won't work properly with the greenish color of his face. 

"I'm a musketeer, I fight on land, I'm not my best at sea, but given a few days I'll be back at full capacities", he almost justifies himself, but Aramis shrugs, he's as little interested in what Athos can do on board as much as Athos is trying to ignore they're pirates. 

"While you regain control of your body we traced the course if we get the right wind and we…"Aramis starts to give details, but he stops a second later realizing that probably Athos knows nothing about ships, "Basically we'll make landfall in Laredo tomorrow night, then once ashore we'll head for the mines…"

"You command on board, I'll command on land", Athos reminds him with steel eyes, face almost less grayish in the momentum. His mistake, his bad planning, his wrong order, are what made that mission end so disastrously, he isn't going to repeat his mistakes, nor he is going to let someone else solve his mess. He has done it, he's going to unravel it. 

"It's my men, we know the area, and we can pass for Spanish, do you?" Athos grunts at that, angry, "can the Spanish soldiers see you without recognizing you? Or can we fight ten times my men?" Athos looks back at the sea. He doesn't want to admit Aramis is right, but he can't tell him wrong either. The man senses that "Good, then we'll follow my plan, you'll stay back, I'll save your friend, no massacres involved" Aramis concludes with a pat on his shoulder. 

Athos is about to object, just not to let the Pirate win like that, when a young man runs toward them. Aramis frowns, unused to see Brujon run like that on his ship, well knowing he doesn't like that if not in an emergency or in battle. 

"What is it?" Aramis asks even before the blond man, little more than a boy, stops before them. 

"Captain, there's a matter that needs your attention", Brujon says, breathe fast, and nods when Aramis signs him to go on, "Serge found two stowaway on board, Captain, a man and a woman."

Aramis frowns, confused. It isn't often that someone hides on a pirate ship, always a lot more dangerous than to do that on any other ship, and it's even rarer that a woman is involved in that kind of things, usually voices that surround pirates are enough to scare any woman, sure she'll be used as the toy of all the crew. 

Still frowning he starts to follow Brujon, but suddenly Athos grabs his arm. 

"Remember our agreement. No killing if it's avoidable", he reminds Aramis, but the Captain snorts

"Do you really think you can order me about what happens on my Ship? Please, musketeer, I'll follow your rules on land, but here, in the middle of the sea, you shut up and acknowledge my role," Aramis states in clear and cold words, eyes full of passion, the eye of a man ready to draw his sword and fight, but while Athos fingers already twitch to do the same thing, an old man, Serge, pushed on deck two persons heavily tied up with rough ropes. 

Both Aramis and Athos stop in their tracks. They aren't what they've imagined from Brujon telling, they're young, maybe the woman with auburn hair slightly older than the boy uselessly struggling to get free of the rope. Aramis smirks, he reminds him of a furious squirrel. 

"Do you really want to kill these two?" Athos whispers, voice full of mirth, "he looks like an angry wet cat and she's basically scolding you with her stare", Aramis coughs to hide the laugh he's barely keeping, then got his best Pirate stare on and draws his shorter blade. 

"I imagine there's no need to explain to you what happens to stowaway on a ship, I'm sure Serge already told you, in details", the boy struggles even more at that, a litany of insults coming out of his lips, "but before I take the obvious solution to the problem, you have the chance of telling me who you are and why I shouldn't just throw you overboard or slit your throat"

Athos listens to every word, not moving from the spot a few steps behind the Captain. He's sure Aramis isn't really going to kill them, but he feels a pang of liking toward the pirate when he doesn't say a word about using the woman as their plaything. Maybe he was just keeping it for later, or maybe the rumors about this strange pirate ship are true. 

"I'm Constance Bonacieux and I'm not scared of your words. Your ship was the only chance we got to save both of us, and I'm not letting you take that chance from us so easily!" the woman says, loudly and clear, not even struggling in her bonds. Aramis nods.

"Do you realize, Madame Bonacieux, that you are in the wrong and still you're menacing me? A Pirate Captain who literally has your life in his hands?" he ridicules her, his men laugh behind him, but the woman straightens her back even more.

"Monsieur…pirate, your ship was the only alternative to stay in Paris and see d'Artagnan killed by that fool of my husband, I got us here, I'm not going to stop fighting now. You want to throw us overboard or slit our throats do so now, because it's obvious we can't fight you and your crew, otherwise free us of that damn rope and we'll talk arrangements" 

Aramis has to fight himself not to open his eyes wider and wider during the monologue. He's met strong women in his life, even a few who were almost better warriors than him, but he's never heard such determination in who looks to be a common woman used to live in a huge city, from the look of her dresses even a well off married one. 

He looks at the boy, the woman's lover, he assumes. He has momentarily stopped to struggle, but with cheeks red from the exertion and the ruffled hair he looks even younger than he probably is. Still not the kind of man to be liked by a woman like the one they just captured. 

"So I assume this is d'Artagnan, your lover who your husband wants to kill", Aramis observe while grabbing the boy's face to see it better, but d'Artagnan turns, biting at his thumb. Without even flinching Aramis backhands him, "I'm sorry but I like bites only during intercourse", he states, turning toward Serge a moment later, "What were they doing when you found them?"

"Just hiding among the lines, Cap'ain" the man answers with a push between d'Artagnan shoulder blades just for the sake of it. The prisoner grunts but says nothing. 

"No stealing, no eating our food?", before Serge can even open his mouth Madame Bonacieux is already speaking.

"I'm no thief!" she says offended, "I'm here to get away from my husband, not to eat your rotten food!"

"Except our rotten food would have been the only thing to keep you alive, don't you think? And you either came out to us or you were going to steal," Aramis says, and Athos rolls his eyes at that obvious logic, but Constance seems to stop at that. She nods slowly, looking down.

"I may not have thought everything through, we were running and the ship made sense," she admits. Aramis nods

"Then we are at the same point as before. Should I kill you or should I grant you safe passage? And aren't you scared of being on a ship full of men?"

"If that's an alternative I'll take the killing part, but I usually don't judge someone by the look of him, otherwise I'd have never believed you're captain on a pirate ship"

"Is that an insult, Madame? You break my heart in that case", Aramis asks, even more entertained now by that strange woman. She shrugs with a smile.

"You decide. So, you take us with you to safety, you don't dare to touch me, and we'll work on your ship until then", she offers and Aramis turns to keep himself from really laughing. His eyes meet Athos, who's in no better state and trying to hide it. 

"You can probably cook and clean better than anyone on board, I give you that, but what about biting boy, here?" 

"I'm no boy, I'm a man, free my hands and I'll show you!" d'Artagnan hisses, and Aramis goes back to him

"Oh, so you CAN talk, you just let her do it for you. Shame on you, boy," the prisoner insults him again, spitting on the deck and Aramis grabs his face once more, "Constance I like, you not so much at the moment, so, do like her, give me a good reason not to kill you" it takes a few seconds of d'Artagnan struggling to get rid of the hand on his face, before he calms down.

"I can fight. Sword, pistol, musket, I'm good at it all, I went to Paris to join the Musketeers, then I met Constance and things went differently", he confesses, without even noticing that both Aramis and Athos barely kept from snickering at the coincidence of him wanting to be a musketeer. 

"All right", Aramis finally states, letting go of the man just to pass a hand through his own hair, "Madame Bonacieux made me curious enough for now. Please, Serge, get them below deck and make sure they can't go around, but let them free of the ropes. I'll think about what to do with them when I'll have the time", Aramis orders, already knowing what to do with them but needing to show his men he isn't so soft of heart, "Brujon, find Luc and send him to bring them some food. And now everyone back at what must be done, this ship won't sail herself!" 

Without another word, Aramis goes back to the stern, immediately followed by Athos. 

"Would you've really killed them?" Athos wonders, leaning near him to the gunwale. Aramis smiles.

"I'm the big, bad pirate, isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" but Athos just waits, obvious from Aramis' tone that there was nothing true in his sentence. In the end, Aramis shakes his head, "I've no problem killing in battle, but we don't kill for the sake of it, and we don't hurt women. Never. I've chosen my crew based on that, so, no, no one on this ship would have really killed them, but fear is the only thing keeping us safe", Athos nods

"You're a pirate, people must be scared of you", Aramis nods in turn, then sighs, eyes lost in the endless blue of the sea

"Them. And soldiers. The moment they realize we're not like other pirates we die or we start to kill and I don't like either option"

"Then what about me? I'm a musketeer, I report directly to the King" but there's no worry in Athos words, just curiosity. He's seen the difference between Aramis and real criminals the moment he's talked to him at the tavern, realizing he really had little in his hands to convince a real Pirate to accept and go back without a shot in his hip, but what he still doesn't get is how Aramis can fit those values in a pirate life. 

"Then you better not report me, otherwise you don't know when you'll find me in your quarters in the middle of the night", Aramis only replies, already walking away while Athos looks at him, confused by the meaning of the words, by the flirting tone. 

"Wait! What are we doing about the two prisoners?" Athos asks as an afterthought, realizing he's the only one, on that ship, with a vow to the Crown and the Law and feeling like he should do something to uphold it, even if Aramis already made clear that he wanted no interferences on his ship and how frail their accord is. 

"If he can really fight he'll come with us on land. Her…I think she'll do whatever she wants the moment I'll set her free", Aramis gestures nonchalantly with a hand, like if the fact really isn't something that he could waste time thinking about and a second later he disappears in some corner of that damn boat that Athos still can't name. 

This time the wooden rail instead than scary feels almost friendly under his fingers and against his lower back, safe. He feels totally lost on that ship, at sea, out of anything he knows, out of control and useless. It's been years he hasn't felt like that, it's been since…since he found out that everything with Anne had been a lie. He closes his eyes, embracing nausea and letting it take the space of every dark thought. When he feels like vomiting he exhales, reopening his eyes. At least the prisoner, even looking like a wet kitten, seemed sure enough of his abilities and they can really use one more sword. He bites on his lip. 

One more sword to go save Porthos. To get Porthos back.


	3. Chapter 2

In the warm and dry weather, the dust from the road sticks to clothes and skin, a thin cloud raised by the horses and the boots, filling the lungs of the men walking in silence. 

The tension is almost a solid weight on their shoulders, men who have always hated each other now forced to work together. Different plans, different ways. 

"I'll come with you, we'll get in the encampment unnoticed, but in case we get seen we'll be enough to fight, at least if we bring d'Artagnan and Brujon with us," Athos breaks the silence, the dirt turning his face even paler, marking the lines around his eyes and on his forehead. 

He's tired, not physically, he can endure a lot more than suffocating weather and a few hours ride, it's his brain that feels like everything is too much, like his life in that instant is more than what he can take. 

They've discussed about the plan, for hours, him and Aramis, but it has turned out to be utterly useless, both unwilling to give up their ideas and Athos, for once, too little rational to form a plan that doesn't involve someone's death, desperate and scared enough to risk anything for that single chance of saving Porthos. 

"Athos, we already talked about this," Aramis replies, a sigh badly hidden in his tone, the sigh of a parent who had to repeat something too many times, not of a pirate. 

He knows he's been too much compliant with Athos, a soldier, the portrayal of everything he fights against every day, but the man has been honest with him from the first moment and Aramis has read the pain on his face and, at the same time, the fight against his own pride, when Athos has asked him to save Porthos, his friend, as part of their deal. He knows too much about the loss of a brother to be insensitive about the subject.

"Still yours is a too dangerous plan, you'll be outnumbered, without someone watching your back. You're the good one at sea, but I'm the one who fights on land," Athos repeats for the hundredth time that morning, but this time Aramis suddenly stops, turning to get close to him, too close, faces almost touching. 

"First, it's my men we're talking about, it's my men who'll die, so you don't get a say in how they should be used. Second, I don't care if you're the best swordsman in France or in the world or whatever, I may be a pirate, I may be better at sea than on land, but even I can see that if there'll be a fight it's ten against one. For the last time: I won't lead my men into a massacre when we can get your friend out without blood being spilled," Aramis articulates, eyes fixed in Athos's but still, the musketeer shakes his head.

"I don't care, I want to be there. I'll come. Porthos won't like it if you act as you said, you don't know how…" Athos starts to object once more, but Aramis shoves him backward, now plainly angry.

"You don't give me orders", he pronounces, furious, no longer caring about Athos' possible feelings, "I've never liked orders and sure enough I won't take any from a Musketeer", the word sounds like dirty spit on his lips, full of disgust, "They know your face, you'd get us all killed, so I don't care where you have to shove your own pride, but you'll stay here, with my men's pistols pointed at your head if that's what it takes, and I'll save your friend. Or you get in my way again and I'll turn right now, right here, and let your friend be the slave of the bastard Spaniards. So, what do you choose?" he finishes in an angry hiss, getting in Athos’ face once more. 

Athos hesitates. He knows Aramis is his only chance to save Porthos, the two other tries failed so miserably that a few of his fellow musketeers still are at the garrison healing from the wounds, not to mention how unhappy the King and the Cardinal have been for such an open act against Spain. On the other hand, though, he feels the need to be there, to be the one who saves Porthos. After all, it's been his plan that ended with Porthos taken as a slave. 

He passes a hand through his hair, brushing backward the locks falling on his face, then looks away, trying to regain control. 

Pirate or not he knows Aramis' plan is the one that makes more sense, almost too easy and yet apparently good enough, and he knows Aramis will keep his word and try everything, sometimes the word of a pirate even more valuable than the one of some noble. Still, the man is right, it's his pride fighting against it. But he has to choose between it or Porthos and that's not really a choice. 

With a tired sigh, in the end, Athos nods and Aramis reciprocates, patting his arm. 

"It won't come to a fight and we'll get the musketeer out," Aramis concedes, almost to reassure the soldier once more, then he nods to Brujon, "my fancy clothes, please," Aramis asks with a laugh in his voice, a laugh that a second later is shared by everyone else, as an inside joke, when rich clothes, obviously stolen, are produced from an old sack. 

Athos looks in silence while Aramis changes, the pirates touching the brocade and joking, low laughs filling the wood in stark contrast with his anxiety. Just Aramis seems to share his worry, lip trapped between teeth, fingers fast to close the lavish jacket. 

It's nothing more than another game for Aramis, something to steal from Spain, another way to hurt the bastards, but somehow it feels different, like this time there's something more at stake. Well, actually there really is, he knows, the pact with Athos has rules, to save the kidnapped musketeer is one of those, and even if he hasn't shown it before, Aramis and his ship, his crew, desperately need a free pass in French ports, at least if they want to keep hitting and hurting Spain. However, he knows it's not just that. It's the fact that Athos is putting his brother's life in his hands, pirate hands, and Aramis knows how hard it must be. Aramis knows everything about it. Maybe he can give Athos the chance he never really had. 

Once he's ready, every layer of stupidly expensive clothes on, Aramis gestures at Athos once more, toward a somehow private part of the clearing.

"What?" Athos asks, reaching him, tense and nervous as if expecting someone to jump out of the bushes to capture them or, even worse, for Aramis to having changed his mind about the rescue. 

He suspiciously looks around, as if the first option could still be accurate. They're in Spain's territory, after all. A pirate notorious for targeting Spanish ships and a musketeer that had probably already fought half the Spanish army without even be ordered to. Athos can see more than a few reasons to worry about turning from assailers to assault. Not that he really cares at the moment, still caution and to make things as quick and swift as possible aren't the worst ideas. 

"I need more details," Aramis interrupts his train of thoughts, "we discussed a lot about the plan, about everything, but I need to know more about the circumstances of his capture. I need to know everything to not risk to do or say something wrong while there," he explains, careful. He still doesn't really know Athos well, actually, he doesn't know him at all, but he's not so blind not to notice how rigid and nervous Athos has gone every time the "incident" that got Porthos caught has been mentioned. Anyone would have noticed how, at the mention of Porthos, the reserved and impassive musketeer turns skittish and almost embarrassed, which leads Aramis to think there's more he needs to know. 

"You already know what it's needed. Porthos needs to be saved," Athos replies coldly, looking at Aramis from under the brim of his hat. 

"Sorry, but I need more. I need to know how much *they* know if they'll suspect when I'll get there. Come on, you know better than me that I can't safely develop a plan without these information".

Athos hesitates for a moment, ashamed of himself, ashamed of having to confess his crime, and even ashamed of being ashamed. He feels his cheeks burn, pained by the idea he put another person he loves, another brother, at risk. And now he has to repeat the facts once more, to humiliate himself in front of a pirate. Still, he nods, knowing it's for Porthos, and looks up, keeping Aramis gaze for a few, long, seconds.

"Hopefully, since it seems he's still here and not in some prison, they haven't found out he's a musketeer, they think he's just another French, black man," he starts in the cold and strong voice he always uses with his enemies, no matter how scared or hurt he is. Except for this time HE is his own enemy "A plan, my plan went really bad. We got separated, I got to run, he didn't. At least we were undercover, so he looked as any plain, poor, man living in the country. Thanks to his physical shape he's been taken at the mines instead than to prison. With a few fellow musketeers we tried a rescue mission, off the books, not even our Captain knew, but we got captured and he got to know, because he was asked ransom to get us back without a diplomatic accident that would have mined the already critical relationship with Spain," Athos ends, feeling even worse now that the words are out. 

Aramis looks at him feeling the need to pat him on the shoulder or something, but he knows it's not his place. He just nods with a long sigh.

"And he couldn't get Porthos back because…"

"Because the mission that went wrong wasn't exactly something that Spain would have liked and we didn't have permission to act so close to their border. So…drunk musketeers who passed the borders to save slaves and find some prostitute for the night, Treville could justify, but an unclaimed one from weeks before, caught with a little group of people Spain considered traitors…that was beyond his power."

"You had to leave Porthos behind two times," the sentence leaves the pirate's lips before he could realize, shocked, and Athos slowly nods, eyes looking at the floor, full of pain.

Aramis knows about leaving someone behind for a bigger plan, knows about self-sacrifice, but he can't imagine how painful for Athos it must have been to be forced to give up his friend like that. He doesn't get the fact that he obviously did it for his Country, but he knows everything about having to choose something hurtful for an ideal. For a few seconds he thinks about a reply, about telling him that this time he'll get his friend back, but in the end, he just nods.

"Brujon, you'll come with me, it's time you see some real action," he orders his mate, stepping back toward the little group of men waiting for them, and the young man nods hungrily.

Athos sigh is probably loud enough to be heard in half the wood.

"And you stay here," Aramis reminds him once more, just to be sure, "please, don't make Vadim shot you, he'd have too much fun and no one on the ship likes him when he's too happy," and just like that Aramis turns, his pace slightly different, shoulders higher, back straighter, the posture of someone who's not always been a criminal, someone who's used to have everyone at his feet.

**

One of the things Aramis is worst at is waiting. He hates to wait, he always had, it feels like being stuck in time to him, like nothing can happen during those useless minutes, like he just exists, powerless and worthless. The only thing reminding him that it's not just a wait, that it could be the breath before the battle, are the raised hairs on his neck, the tension in his shoulders. 

He can almost feel the same tension, scarily higher, in Brujon, standing still, even too much, behind him. 

A huge black man with short hair and a scar on his eye. Athos has given them a simple description, but while he toured the quarry with the Spanish slaver, he hasn't needed anything more, the man he's searching for standing out obviously among the desperate men and women on the verge of death. 

Less obvious is the money he has to pay. Usually, a slave from a pit or a mine, tired and sick, is worth far less than a mule, but that Porthos seems to be a miracle for those Spaniards, a bunch of muscles and rage that a whip can focus on the rocks that need to be cracked.

Luckily Aramis has that kind of gold on him, something Athos had insisted upon, probably knowing how valuable Porthos can be, still the moment he's heard the sum and seen the state of the slaves, the decision of attacking the mine at the first given chance has been made. 

He's going to get his money back and he's going to free those men, already half dead. Not today doesn't matter when, but he's going to.

That's what he keeps his mind busy with during the long wait. Finally, after a while, a Spanish man that he hasn't met yet, gets there, holding the arm of a drenched Porthos, clothes sticking to his body, curls and beard dripping. 

"We even cleaned him up for you, monsieur," the man says with enough mock in his tone that Aramis' hand automatically moves to his sword. Brujon coughs behind him. He doesn't speak a word of Spanish, can't have any idea of what has been said, but Aramis reaction is as obvious as the man's tone.

"I'd leash my tongue being you," Aramis just intimidates the man, "I could get you killed in a blink for your sarcasm, given that I just paid for this animal as much as for a pureblood horse," he finishes with the arrogant tone of every rich man, in France or Spain or England, doesn't matter where. Everywhere anyone with money feels superior to anyone who begs for food. The slaver, obviously imagining his possible power, stops the sarcasm, quickly nods and lowers his head, "good, give me my purchase then, my stables have to be put down and up again and I'm losing even too much time in this filthy hole," disgust tangible in Aramis words, while his stomach closes at the terms he has to use to refer to another man.

He looks at Porthos while he talks, while money changes hands, while Porthos' chains do the same, but the musketeer never looks at him, teeth gritting so hard it must hurt, bloody hands tight in fists. 

In silence, Aramis starts to walk toward the woods, chain in his hand, Brujon closer to him than before, probably scared by the huge man they've just bought. Porthos just follows them, steps quick and sure enough that the chain isn't even drawn. Even Aramis, who has never met him before, can see that the man is unusually thin for the muscles he still shows, the face is drawn, arms and clothes smeared with blood. For a second Aramis' instinct screams at him to get back and kill those men one by one, to free the prisoners and gets them to safety, but reality reminds him he can't right at that moment. 

"Let me guess, you're so amenable because you're just thinking how to kill me and run away," he says to Porthos in a whisper and the grin he receives from the musketeer is feral, dangerous. Brujon flinches, but the prisoner isn't interested in him, eyes locked on Aramis. 

"You're smart to be some kind of count or something. But I don't need much thinking, just to hit you as hard and as long as I want right now, and then I'll be free and if you'll still be alive I'll let you met a whole garrison of friends," Porthos smirks, voice stronger than what his body would let imagine. 

"Once a musketeer always a musketeer," Aramis murmurs, low enough that the man can only make out the sound, not the words, but the second he feels Porthos steps falter he stops. They're still too close, too visible, he can't break the play yet, "you're brave to talk like that to your new master, I guess that's why there's so much blood on you," now Aramis can feel the slavers stares on him, almost as a physical touch. That's the most dangerous moment, the getting away. That's when most mistakes are made, the moment slavers can see something is wrong and will shoot you in the back at the smallest sign that you're not who you claimed to be. Gold is enough to get a slave, but the suspect of a rescue mission is enough to get shot. Too many secrets seen and heard in whispers by the ones kept captive to let them go back to a normal life or, worse, to risk they'll be taken back to France. 

"Don't worry, your hateful spirit won't last long, where we're going is a lot different than here," Aramis says in a cruel tone, fear and worry keeping him from laughing at his own words. 

"I'm Porthos Du Vallon and I'm a King's of France Musketeer," Porthos states loudly, with pride, for the first time since he's been captured, back and shoulders suddenly straight, seeming suddenly huge compared to Aramis' smallest frame, "You can have me as a prisoner, but you'll never have me as a slave!" and suddenly he yanks at the chains. He doesn't care if it's still dangerous to reveal who he is, probably the bastard who just bought him doesn't even care or thinks it's just one of the stupid things slaves tell to be free, he just needs to say it, to remind it to himself. Who he's become, who he is. Not dirt in the street, not a slave, not a mongrel. A Musketeer. He's not scared. A Musketeer is never scared. HE is never scared, fear is what gets people killed. 

For a moment Aramis loses his step when the chain is yanked, then he's forced backward. He can almost feel from there the tension among the slavers. That's the moment they've been waiting for. 

Thinking of the worst things, not how much he already likes the man, Aramis turns, face twisted in fury so obvious he's sure the slavers can see it from afar. Without hesitation, he backslaps Porthos hard enough that the man, weakened by hunger and tiredness, almost falls. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers a second later, sure no one but the three of them would hear it. At that Porthos frowns in confusion, not even trying to clean the blood dripping from his lip. Aramis hits him once more before talking again. 

"I'm with Athos. I've no choice. A faux move and we're dead," another whisper, little more than a breath, while he starts walking again, dragging Porthos behind him. 

"His plans often involve getting me battered and bloody," Porthos jokes, out of the blue, unexpectedly pliable in the chains, as a good slave beaten into shape. Brujon's steps falter at the sudden change, but Aramis just shoves him as any noble asshole would do with a stupid servant. 

"So you just believe me? Like that?" he asks still looking forward, knowing that now they can still be clearly seen but definitely not heard.

"You know his name, but obviously you don't know him. I never doubted he was going to rescue me and this plan is so stupid it can only come from him…" Porthos comments, badly hiding how relieved he is that everything it's just an act and he doesn't really need to study another escape plan from an unknown place. It has taken him weeks just to learn the mines grounds good enough to start thinking how it would be possible to run. He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, still walking, still faking a struggle not to ruin things now. Athos is there. He's never doubted that his brother was going to do anything to rescue him, what has worried him was that Athos was going to get himself killed before he could get him out of that mines. 

"Actually it's my plan," Aramis interrupts, pulling Porthos out of his thoughts

"Great, now I'm stuck with two suicidal minds then," Porthos jokes, just like that, as if he'd always known the man dragging him around by a chain. But he's free, he can. He can joke, he can trust. He can hug Athos for a week. He's no longer a slave, he's never really been one. Because he fought, he got out of the sewers once already, and he is a Musketeer now, not a slave, never a slave even while in the mines. 

Aramis, instead, looks at him for a moment not exactly sure if he's stupid, crazy, or really so certain of Athos. Maybe a mix of the three. Maybe Aramis envies him such a friendship, his own long lost. But the forest is just a few steps away and he doesn't care. He's going to give Porthos back to Athos, sink that damn ship that he's bothering France and once he's kept his part of the bargain he's going to get his reward and go back to do what he's sworn to a long time ago: things difficult for Spain.

**

The clearing is quiet, only the chirping of the birds breaking the tense silence. The few pirates that have got ashore busy to clean and sharpen their arms, d'Artagnan silently brooding on a fallen trunk and Athos too tense to do much more than breath. 

He can't stay still, he has tried to sit down but it felt like torture like he wasn't going to be fast enough to intervene if something went bad. So he has started to pace back and forth, but after five minutes Vadim has threatened him to shoot both his legs, so he's now fidgeting while leaning against a tree, fingers nervously playing with the hilt of his sword. 

This is probably his last chance to have Porthos back, the King already made clear that no other rescue plan will be to take place or he'll have anyone who has participated, hanged. Treville hasn't menaced such a sort, but he's made clear that the consequences wouldn't be enjoyable, at all.   
So Athos knows he'll have to attack alone, if that rescue goes bad, a known musketeer against a bunch of slavers, with France repudiating him. Maybe he could take down half of them, maybe he could even reach Porthos and give him a sword, still, there's no doubt they'll not make it out alive. But better to die with Porthos than living alone in Paris, knowing the fate he imposed on his brother. 

Vadim growls at Athos' fingers nervously drumming against the trunk, but before the Musketeer can snarl at him, fed up with his attitude, noises start to come from the woods, footsteps and metallic clinking. In a second all men are standing, pistols and swords in their hands. Athos' sword catches a sun ray that makes it shine, hiding how much his hand is shaking. That's the moment of truth. It's either Aramis alone, Aramis with Porthos or the Spanish soldiers coming to kill them after killing his friend and the pirate. 

Everyone's tension grows at the nearing of the noises, but a minute later Aramis is in the clearing, face nervous and angry, and everyone lowers their weapons, but Athos drops his sword, too scared to think or move. Aramis is alone, tired, neither Brujon or Porthos are with him. He feels like throwing up, like fall on his knees and just cry.

Aramis nods toward him with a small smile, but Athos doesn't have time to process the thing, because at the same time Porthos gets out of the woods and into the clearing, bloody and thin and tired but alive. 

Athos takes a step toward him, but he realizes he can't walk, not right now, his heart beating too fast, his eyes fogged by tears. Porthos is alive and free, Athos has now all his life to make up for his mistake. Because Porthos is alive. 

Before he can try another step the man is in front of him, an exhausted smile on his lips, but relief clear in his eyes.

"It's okay," he whispers to Athos as if it's him who needs reassurance, and Athos can just hug his friend, face hidden in Porthos' neck, arms so tight around him they hurt.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he keeps repeating, uncaring that everyone is looking at them, uncaring of the dried blood rubbing on him. It's Porthos, his body, the smell of his skin under the layers of dirt. 

"It's okay, I'm free thanks to you, I never thought you were going to give up on me, it's okay, Athos," Porthos keeps repeating, face hidden in Athos dusty hair, grateful to be with him again, almost more grateful for that than to be free. 

It takes Athos a few minutes to be able to leave the safe embrace, but in the end, he does, mind already running to all the dangers of being there, on Spanish soil. He leans his forehead against Porthos', both their faces streaked with tears.

"We have to go now, I'll explain everything later, on the ship, but it's too dangerous to linger now," Athos says, already back to his soldier mindset.

"Ship?" is all Porthos can ask, still too emotional, while cleaning the tears from his friend's face, and Athos flinches with a pained grimace on his face. 

"You're not going to like it… we're traveling on a pirate ship," he confesses, still sure that right now anything will do for Porthos as long as it's far from that hell.

"I'm so not going to like it," Porthos confirms with a small smile on his lips. He hates pirates, actually, he hunts them down, but at the moment even that sounds like a great getaway, plus he's sure that Athos has a good explanation. Or just another stupid plan that he's going to follow anyway because it's sort of impossible not to follow Athos' lead. 

**

The trip back to the ship feels even longer than the outward journey, everyone tense at the idea that the slavers could ambush them to rob the rich count, just to then find out who they really are and start a bloody fight. 

Porthos stride, additionally, is slower and shorter than usual, legs weakened by labor and hunger, and Athos can't even think to walk anywhere but near him.

Aramis looks at them, nervous. It's obvious how the man is doing everything to keep their pace, but still, they're losing important minutes because of him, putting in danger both themselves and the ship. He sighs, keeping himself from kicking a rock, even that dangerously loud in the silent woods, too many animals easily scared by the sound and thus possibly attracting attention. Aramis fastens his pace, at the bottom of his stomach a strange churning feeling, his instinct, telling him that the deal is probably going to be harder than he has predicted, too many personal relationships already involved. 

Thinking of dangerous relationships he turns back, looking at d'Artagnan, the stowaway that he should have probably just thrown off board but who, for some reason, has made him curious from the first minute. Not that he has ever really thought about killing him, and a woman, but sometimes Aramis likes to convince himself that he really is a pirate and not someone taking on board anyone who needs it. 

"You could have run," he plainly states when he gets near the younger man, but d'Artagnan just looks at him from the corner of his eyes, jaw tightly clamped, hand on the borrowed sword Aramis gave to him before they landed. 

"Constance is still on the ship," voice low and dark, harder than Aramis would have expected to come from the lips of the boy that has bitten his hand just a few days before. 

"Constance could probably run from the ship and reach you more easily than anyone else," Aramis observes. He hasn't had the chance to talk a lot with the woman or to be around her, but it's been obvious from the first minute that there is a particular flame in her. Still, what he's now interested in, is d'Artagnan, "so, why are you cooperating?" he asks while brushing back some branches almost hitting them. 

"Not that it's your business," d'Artagnan starts, already defensive, but at Aramis amused look he sighs, making his tone lighter, "I spent my life training to be a musketeer, now I've left my lands, my father is dead and I just ran from Paris with a married woman, so I'd say my chances are thinner than I thought," the young man laughs bitterly.

"So the next best thing is to become a pirate?" Aramis asks, but this time he's serious. Could the boy really be good enough to be part of his crew? Just a few hours before Aramis has decided to trust him enough to give him a sword, still he has done it sure that his men would have never lost track of d'Artagnan and of what he was planning to do. 

"No," d'Artagnan answers quickly, a tiny smile almost mocking Aramis for thinking something like that, "I want to defend my Country and my King, but you now happen to have on board two of the most famous musketeers, so if I impress them my slim chances are going to be a lot higher." He finishes in a proud and satisfied tone that sounds a little like a tease coming from his lips, and Aramis shakes his head, amused. 

"That's why, no more than a few days ago, you kicked and bit like a kid in front of Athos? Let me say, not the best way to introduce yourself." D'Artagnan makes a face at that, but he manages to keep down his instinct to react.

"I didn't know who he was, and I was in a…difficult situation," he justifies himself.

"Scared, you were scared," Aramis corrects him, shaking his head when the other opens his mouth to protest, "no shame in admitting you are scared as long as fear doesn't keep you from doing what you must. I'm sure Athos would give you the same advice."

"You are a pirate, not a Musketeer," d'Artagnan shots back with a disgusted frown. For a second Aramis almost forget they have to stay the quietest possible and to walk the fastest that Porthos' body will allow them, then he just laughs, angry, but reminding himself he's just talking with a young man who knows almost nothing of the real world. 

"One day you'll find out there's not much difference," Aramis only offers, "in the meantime I'd work harder to impress Athos, being you," he says before speeding his pace to walk away from the young man. He still doesn't know if he likes him or not, sure enough, the boy, he's little more than that, has a fighting spirit, but it's obvious he also still acts and talks before thinking and that's what worries Aramis the most. If to act on impulse is always dangerous it can be fatal on a ship, and he's not going to lose The Espaloungue and his men because of some unknown boy. 

Aramis is still lost in contemplation of the too young man when Athos reaches for him, almost jogging, hand on the sword to keep it from getting in the way.

"I need to contact my Captain, Porthos heard that some cadets are training just half a day march from the border, we'll go there before going back to your ship," Athos states in the tone of a command, the one he's obviously used to utilize among other musketeers.

"No. My ship is in Spanish waters, in case you don't remember I'm the Spain’s most wanted man, they want nothing more than to burn her down and hang me on the first tree they encounter. And we are in a wood. We're going straight to the ship and leave this place before someone makes us leave this life."

"Fine," there' nothing in Athos' voice or stare, just a cold emptiness hiding his anger, a blankness that for a second Aramis fears and, a moment later, he just pities. Who hurts him so much to force him to train his feelings into nothing? 

"You're making this too easy," Aramis suspiciously states, forcing himself to tell nothing about the icy gaze.

"I'm not, because I don't take orders from a pirate," the tone is not of mock or disgust as Aramis has expected, just a plain statement, "You saved my brother, I'm infinitely grateful for that, but now I need my Captain to know that and my comrades, who risked their lives for Porthos, too. So I'll go, alone if necessary," Athos calmly explains, his mind already settled on the matter. He needs Treville to know, he needs everyone to know Porthos is alive. Not that so many people would care about it, but for the first time in months, probably years, Athos feels happy, like a huge stone has been removed from his shoulders, and he's going to share that. 

"I thought we had a deal. I thought your King wanted us to destroy the ship bothering him so much, but I'm sure your Captain will be delighted to know you left the mission behind to run and give him a news he'll probably know some other way in a matter of days," Aramis tells, sarcasm heavy in his words. That's another thing he never got. Why it's so important to soldiers to always inform the higher members of the chain of command. It's not by far a matter of death or life, is just a good news, something that can definitely wait compared to having to save a Country from some crazy pirate or to anger the King of France. 

"I thought sarcasm was more of my thing, obviously I was wrong," Athos deadpanned, with a spontaneity rare among two people who barely know each other, "Fine, give me one of your men, then, we'll get him back in a few days, in France," the last word is mockingly emphasized, but Aramis looks at him as if it's another joke, realising just a moment later that the man is serious in his request.

"Are you really asking me to send one of my pirates alone in the woods, at night, toward a musketeers settlement and to then run back toward the coast, just to bring a message that can wait because it's utterly unimportant?" Aramis hisses back, shocked that Athos could think of a plan like that, but apparently the man definitely can because he is fervently nodding.

"Give it time and you'll learn how Porthos is utterly important. So, will you give me the man or shall I break the deal?"

"You can't change or break the deal! We agreed upon it!" Aramis is stunned by such a menace from a man whose life should be based on honor. 

"Maybe I can't change the deal, but I can arrest you, you're wanted, after all," Athos says as a joke, but with a cryptic expression on his face, one he himself isn't sure about. He wouldn't get Aramis arrested and hanged, even if he knows things are so calm because of him and the deal, he and his men seems good enough not to be a real danger, plus their raids are focused on Spain, which makes of them someone else's problem. 

"You are too honorable to break the deal like that, to betray me. If it's so important to you, good, we'll send Brujon then, it's time he learns to take care of himself and he's great with a pistol, at least."

"You're giving me a kid to bring the message to my comrades?" Athos says in a shocked and amused tone, already discarding his dark thoughts about learning in the worst possible way that there must be no honor when someone loved is at risk. 

"He's very young, yes, but he's learning not to be a kid, he makes up for his flaws with bravery and great fighting skill. I trust him to afford such a journey alone," Aramis reassures more himself than Athos. He knows Brujon is going to be a great pirate, a great man, one day, but it's true that he's still little more than a boy, even younger than d'Artagnan, and that it's going to be a hard journey alone in the woods, not without risks. But he also knows that his mate can do it and grow up in the meantime.

"Good then, he's your man, I'll trust your judgment," Athos sentences, discarding his own doubts. If Aramis is as fond of his men as he seems he wouldn't send a kid to die in a forest. Hopefully. He won't have another life on his conscience anyway, he hasn't been the one to pick the most defenseless of the group. He'd have sent someone like Vadim, big and scary and a little crazy. But it's not his business. 

He goes back, near Porthos, touching his bloodied arm with affection. He definitely doesn't want to take such decisions anytime soon, he has learned not to send someone alone and vulnerable. He just hopes Brujon and Aramis won't have to discover the same, painful, lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's not by far my favourite chapter, but I needed it, so...
> 
> On the bright side it's long enough, to ask forgivness for my late updates. Real life sucks ;)


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late as usual, even flu got against me this time. But as you can see, I'm always late, but I always publish, I've most of the fic already written, so I'm not going to let you down, I just need the time to edit the chapters ;)

All spaces on ships are small and deprived of any real privacy, even the Captain's cabin, little more than a cage of humid wood: a bed, a tiny wardrobe, and a cluttered desk, the only luxuries. But Athos doesn't really notice all that, his attention fixed on Porthos. 

The smell of the rhum is strong in Porthos' breath, and yet he can't help but hiss in pain every time one of the wounds get washed or sutured. He's probably going to have new scars, but he doesn't really care. He's a soldier, every mark is like a medal to him, a token, the evidence that he has fought and he has won, and those scars aren't different from the others, actually they're probably worth more given the cause, given the reminder that he has fought and won against being a slave, being a rejected, now twice in his life. 

Aramis works carefully on his skin, though, with even, little stitches that are barely going to leave more marks, taking care of the most visible wounds with the attention of a seamstress stitching the most refined silk.

Still his care doesn't make Porthos like him more, he still is a pirate in his eyes, yet an agreement has been made between the man and Athos, between the pirate and France, actually, probably a frail one, but Aramis has risked his life to save Porthos', something that Porthos can't just ignore. He's in debt with the pirate, and even if he doesn't like him a bit, it's his obligation to somehow respect him until he can return the favor somehow. 

In the meantime, at his back, working on the worst wounds, lashes from a whip at the small of his back, there's a second man stitching him carefully: the ship's surgeon.

The doctor looks nothing like a pirate, which Porthos has stated loudly after the better half of a bottle of rum, leaving only Athos to secretly think he looks more like a wet rat than a pirate. However, doctor Lemay, as he has introduced himself, is careful and gentle in cleaning the gashes and applying a terrible smelling salve. 

When Porthos, slumped on the disarrayed bed, flinches once more at the gauze being applied to his back, Lemay gets out of his thoughts, from that place in the past when he has worked for the Royal family, when lives really had a different worth and when he had chosen to risk everything to help who really deserves it. 

With a nod toward the Captain, Lemay gets all his instruments in the expensive black bag, the only remaining token of his old life, and leaves in silence, patting Porthos' shoulder gently when the man growls at Aramis soft shushing. 

Aramis doesn't say another word while stashing away his own tools and washing his hands in an old and chipped basin, still, the tension can almost be felt in the air while Athos tries to keep himself calm in front of a hurt and half drunk Porthos. 

"All wounds are shallow and already healing, there's basically no risk of infection," Aramis breaks the long lasted silence, eyes fixed on Athos, the one more obviously worried, in the room, while he dries his hands, "the only visible scar will probably be the one on your cheek, the others, even if they stay, will be covered by clothes," he adds, still not looking at Porthos even if talking to him, but he's abruptly interrupted by a low growl, one he has got accustomed with during his time in dirty taverns. 

Knowing that growl even too well Athos sighs, placing a hand on Porthos' chest. 

"What the menacing growl means is that Porthos is a soldier, thus he doesn't care about scars," Athos explains, trying to lessen the dense tension in the room. 

"Unlike you, obviously, monsieur pirate pretty face," Porthos snaps back, liquor making him drag every word a little, like the smooth but slow movement of a snail, but Aramis looks for a second at Athos' tired and desperate eyes and decides to let the provocation go for once. He's started duels and fights for a lot less, but Porthos is pretty drunk at the moment and he's just lived through months of slavery, so Aramis can cut him some slack for once. Instead, he just nods at Athos, keeping silent about his own physical scars and what they mean to him. That's not a topic he wants to reveal or discuss. Not at the moment, probably not ever.

Instead, Aramis takes the bottle from Porthos' hand, drinking a good part of the remaining liquor before giving it back. 

"I guess you need some time alone," he says to Athos while drying his wet lips with the back of his hand, actually anxious for a reason to leave that suffocating, tiny, cabin and go back to his men. To remind himself it's just another mission he accepted because he needs the reward, not because he's somehow interested in it, "this is the place with more privacy, so feel free to stay until you both need it, I'll be up deck, so, Porthos, if you need to rest for a while in a real bed…"

"A pirate's bed," Porthos specifies, underlining it in disgust and at the same time Aramis smiles and Athos sighs, thinking how hard his life is going to be in the foreseeable future.

"Trust me, there are dirtier beds among the riches and powerful, just dust and bed bugs in this, not blood and pain," Aramis calmly replies, ignoring the provocation, "anyway, as I was saying, feel free to stay here and talk for as long as you want, I'll make sure someone will bring you food," he concludes, eyes on Athos now, the only of the two apparently reasonable enough to accept the best offer they could get on a ship. 

Athos nods his thanks with a pained face, already thinking of Porthos' reaction the moment Aramis will be out of the cabin. He doesn't have to wait for long, Aramis has barely closed the door behind himself that Porthos' intense stare is already on him. 

"Pirates? Really?" he asks, half angry, half shocked and amused. 

Athos takes a deep breath, passes a hand on his face in a nervous gesture while he searches for the best way to explain. 

"Things got…complicated, lately. I tried to save you, but made an even worse mess, which neither the King nor the Cardinal appreciated," Porthos tries to say something, but Athos stops him with a quick gesture of the hand even before the thought can take complete form, "in the meantime the damn ship, that you already knew bothered France, got more… invasive. Basically, everything was tried to catch it, but she's essentially a ghost, she is there a moment, robs another ship and she's just gone a second later. We don't even know who's the Captain, we know nothing. Until last week the King and Queen got robbed of an important cargo from Spain, gifts, from what we know," Porthos hisses at that, knowing how bad it could be, and Athos just nods, without even the need to read in his mind, "so, our last chance was pirates, and since the Cardinal and Treville have watched Aramis and his crew for a while, because they only attack Spanish ships, I offered to make a deal and to direct the operation," Athos finishes, but Porthos looks at him with his head slightly tilted, suspicious. 

"Because if you stopped whoever is bothering our King so much, you hoped to get back in his graces and to have permission to try once more to save me, right?" Athos almost blushes at how good his friend knows him, then he smiles with just a corner of his mouth. 

"Can't blame a man for trying. But Aramis accepted to save you, so things got even easier," he concludes with the half smile still on his lips, then he takes a step toward Porthos, bending to hug him, "I'm so sorry," he says once more, still unable to think of anything better. 

"I hope you are such, because your idea of easier is to be stuck on a Pirate ship, crowded with Pirates, who probably want us dead, to catch a ship that seems to barely exist, or our King will probably want us dead too," Porthos reminds him, hugging his waist when Athos kisses the crown of his head. 

For a moment Athos is tempted to ask him to stop joking, to take his apologies seriously, but then he realizes. There are things that just can't be taken seriously or will break your soul. There are things that can't be more than a strange adventure. 

"All that is just a minor detail, we'll manage, we've always done," he says instead, walking away from Porthos and back to his position, perched on the end of the bulgy bed. 

"Except usually we are *against* the bad people, not on their ship," Porthos piles it on, still unable to make peace with the fact that they are working with people who made of stealing and killing their lives. Who made all the choices he could have easily made instead than his by far harder ones. 

"I'm still confused, probably they're just trying to convince me they're good people so I'll keep my part of the deal and won't bother them in the future, but they seem to have a code of honour and so far I didn't even see them break the law," Athos observes, really thinking about it for the first time. Aramis and his crew hadn't been just on the right side of the law to keep their part of the deal, they have acted honourably all the time, they even respected Constance, a stowaway woman with no power, "I think we'll both need to study them, it actually feels like there's something missing in the picture, like there's something strange with this crew," he concedes to Porthos, suddenly suspicious.

"Sure there is: they are pirates," but this time Porthos smiles saying it, even if he pronounces every word very slowly, and Athos laughs, the first real laugh since Porthos has been taken away and made a prisoner. But now he's back and making jokes and Athos hasn’t really realized how huge it is up until that moment, how it feels like being able to breathe again, "But there's something more important," Porthos adds, ruining the calm, face suddenly serious. Athos looks at him, confused, "You have no idea what people tell in front of a slave, considering him less than a beast, someone who could never use it against them," there's no real anger in Porthos voice, just resignation toward something that, even as a free man, he's experienced all his life just because of his skin colour.

Athos clenches the fists on his knees at the tone, still unable to make peace on how different their lives have been, still unable to make peace with the fact that the bravest, strong and honorable man he has ever met, could be treated as trash just because he's black. 

"We'll find a way to kill them all," he says as a personal thought made out loud by haunted lips, but Porthos shakes his head, as he'd done more than a few times in their shared past. 

"I don't really care, and as I was saying there's something else that should worry us. Since an open war against France would be too destructive and expensive, there are voices that Spain has recruited someone to make life very hard for France, especially near the borders, so King Philip will offer France his help in exchange for more territories, then I guess he'll go from there to whatever his plan is," Porthos says it all without a single pause, worry heavy in his voice. 

"We have to…"

"To what? Tell the King that a prisoner heard from slavers that the King of Spain, the Queen's brother, paid someone to start a secret war?" Porthos says, correcting and interrupting Athos even before he can finish his sentence, and the man just nods. 

"Right, we'll only tell Treville for now, and we'll keep an eye on what will happen. If it's just a voice it could have gotten bigger passing from mouth to mouth, or something innocent could have turned into an evil plan," Athos thinks out loud, but not even he really believes his own words, the situation between the two States too tense and for too long now. 

"Exactly. We have a mission, we'll turn it into two until we know something more. Wouldn't be the first time," Porthos repeats, thinking of how dangerous it is to hide something that could be so huge to blow up in their faces, in France's face probably, but at the same time how dangerous it would also be to tell something so serious about Spain with no proves, in case it has been really only voices. 

But Athos has already forgotten about the possible catastrophe they're keeping from their King, the thing just another note in the back of his mind while he traces the contours of one of Porthos' stitched wounds.

"What have they done to you?" he murmurs in a question that is more like a desperate affirmation. Porthos, his Porthos, huge and brave and strong, beaten by some scum not even worth the powder to shoot them. 

No matter what they're saying, what they're doing, Athos isn't able to take his head off that thought, of the weeks of captivity and slavery his own fault has imposed on Porthos. Probably his own mind has been right to whisper to him, for months, years, that he isn't worth it, that he's destined to hurt anyone who'll get near him. How much more blood needs to be spilled because of him? To become a Musketeers had seemed the best idea, five years before, to gain a tenth of the honour he has lost, at least in his own eyes, still he only manages to be a drunk whose plan got his best friend trapped, who let down his Captain and his King and who's on a ship full of Pirates because he needs their help instead than their necks to hang. He doesn't even realize he's turned away from Porthos until he feels a hand on his shoulder. Athos flinches, not for the scare, just for the feel of comfort he's sure he doesn't deserve. 

"It's not your fault, Athos," Porthos repeats, well knowing he'll have to tell that sentence over and over to force Athos into understanding it, "I'm not a kid, I'm a soldier, I'm a Musketeer. You placed me in the wrong place, you live with that fault, but it was me who got seen and who lost the skirmish and got caught, so respect me and stop blaming yourself for it," he finishes in a hard, dark, tone. He doesn't really blame himself, he knows one can't always win, it's life, he also knows he's been lucky to lose a fight that ended with him in chain and not dead in a wood, but that's not the moment to tell Athos, who turns toward him with wide eyes.

"Porthos, I was in…" he starts, shocked at his friend's words, but the other man just shakes his head, brows raised. 

"No. As I said, stop thinking I'm your responsibility. I'm a Musketeer, I'm your equal, Athos, so you have no right to think of me as of someone to protect. You thought of a plan and I found it good enough to follow. I could have refused, you're not my superior. We both made a mistake, we both paid, don't offend me," Porthos repeats, even if he doesn't really care about it. He knows where Athos' guilt comes from, he can't really blame him for it, but he's up to anyway to stop him from keep beating himself. 

"Porthos! I'd never belittle you by thinking you're less than me in any way, in anything!" Athos replies, eyes even wider. He's been so busy beating himself up that he's never thought things from that perspective. The plan has been his, but the fight has been all on Porthos, that's true. Not that he thinks less of him for losing, or that he considers it like a fault in Porthos' bravery and skills, it's only been a lost fight, everyone, sooner or later, has one, "I'm sorry," he says after a moment, brain still trying to keep up with everything that happened in the past few hours, "I'm so self-centred that I didn't think that you…" he stops, looking in Porthos' eyes to see a desperate, sad, mirth. Athos doesn't even need for his friend to open his mouth to know he's about to say that the last thing he is is self-centered and egoistic. Still, knowing it is totally different from believing it. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, in a bad imitation of a brain dead fish, then passes a hand through his hair, nervously. He has no idea what to say now, he has no idea how to act after he's just embarrassed both of them.

"Alright, that's enough, come here," Porthos breaks his silent self-beating, pulling Athos against his own chest and hugging him. It's a manly embrace, a perfect gesture for two fellow musketeers who have gone through a lot and are finally reunited, still something that they don't do often outside of "the moment", that instant when something so big happens that they just need to feel the other is physically near. But Porthos is sure that's the case an embrace is needed because what's happening is that the moment Athos has finally let go of a non-existent fault he has also found another to torture himself over. 

For a second Athos is rigid in the sudden gesture, but soon he relaxes, hiding his face in Porthos' neck as he has done in the woods, breathing in the only scent that by now means home to him. His lips start to move, to form the words he's repeated over and over for the last five years, but by now Porthos can read his mind.

"Don't. Please don't apologise, just…I'm here, we are on another adventure and you are my brother, whatever will happen we'll share it, Athos, you're no longer alone, as long as I'll be around you will never be," Porthos adds that last part, almost too intimate, too close to things that have always stayed unspoken between them, knowing that his friend needs it, now more than ever. 

Athos nods against his shoulder, arms still tight around Porthos' middle, like a kid who doesn't want to leave his mother, but momentarily uncaring of how vulnerable he looks, grateful for a comfort that Porthos doesn't even know what he's giving for. After a few heartbeats, he finds the force to let go and step back, eyes dangerously watery. 

"I'm glad to have you back," Athos only says, trying to put in those apparently cold words all the feelings that are scratching at his chest from the inside. Porthos nods, thinking of something to reply, but before he can say anything the door opens, slamming against the wall.

"Monsieur Athos, the Captain needs you up deck immediately!" the young cabin boy, Luc, almost yells.

"Why, what's happening?" Athos tone is calm but the confusion is obvious in his voice.

"Now, please!" the boy repeats with an urgency that leaves no place for politeness, "the Ship we're searching for is close, the Captain needs you!" and just like that Luc disappears back from where's came, probably running to tell Aramis that he's said to Athos what has been ordered. 

The two musketeers look at the door for a few moments, confused, then Athos, without a word, finally metabolizing the important words, runs up deck, the tight and unstable stairs just a distant detail under his boots, touched so rapidly that they don't even creak.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a little shorter than the others and it's some sort of filling chapter, but, for its content, I thought it deserved to stand on his own.

On deck the climate is strange. It's the first thing that Athos notices as if the whole crew is keeping their breath. A mixture of excitement and tension. 

The musketeer ignores it, probably another of the strange things happening on ships, as he ignores the constant movement of the vessel, his stomach still not totally used to it. 

It takes him little more than a few long strides to reach Aramis, the pirate hips pressed against the railing, telescope secure against his eye, the fingers of one hand fidgeting nervously over it. 

"What's so important?" Athos asks, direct, half annoyed, why he doesn't even know. Probably because of the tension in the air. Probably because he can now feel that same nervous slowly sink into his body, his muscles, too, while watching the slightly straighter curve of Aramis' back, the uneasy movements of his hand. 

"She's here. We found the ship that's bothering your King," Aramis announces, almost solemn, a hint of excitement in his voice even if it sounds almost diminished by tension. The same one permeating the whole crew.

Probably won't be easy to take her down, but it's been a while, too much, before him and his crew had the chance of a real battle, and the idea gives Aramis a shiver of excitement along his spine. On the other hand, he knows that any kind of fight will probably mean losing someone he cares about. He sighs, forcing in his mind the idea that they're pirates. 

"I get it's too early to celebrate, by the mood I can sense among your men?" Athos tone is far calmer than the turmoil he feels inside. Even to see that damn pirate ship feels like a miracle after months of running after it as after a ghost. But probably the pirates now working for him can't understand that relief. 

"It's definitely too far for us to attack safely, and if her Captain will instead decide to attack us the wind and current are on their side, they'll have us at the bottom of the Ocean definitely too easily," Aramis explains without even turning, gaze on the ship through the metallic instrument.

He has to admit that there's a chance that exactly that is the cause of his excitement. They aren't going to fight it, not now. It's just a fantasy, harmless in reality. 

"And from your stance I get they're getting closer," Athos completes, nervously running his hand on his forehead, back on his hair. He feels deeply useless stuck on that damn ship, where he can do nothing, where he knows nothing, not even how a battle works. 

Not even when Porthos has been taken prisoner he's felt so utterly worthless. 

Without getting the telescope down Aramis nods, lower lip subconsciously tormented by his teeth. Athos looks back at the crew, everyone seems busy in their work, but it's obvious how all of them keep an eye on the captain. 

"They noticed us, it's either their course in our direction is casual or they have the intention to attack," Aramis concludes, finally putting the telescope down to grab the railing with both hands, "depends on how good their spies in France are," he adds, looking at Athos. The man shakes his head. 

"They've escaped us for months, I fear they're good enough," he admits, looking in the direction of the tiny dot gradually getting bigger and closer. 

"We should go, we shall detour, we'll have the right wind and…" ..and Aramis knows it's the only logical solution. Run. Run away as fast as they can, forgetting about the fantasy-battle. Forgetting they're pirates. 

"No," Athos interrupts, "I've searched for that damn boat for weeks, I've put everything in it, I'm not going to run away."

"It's my ship," Aramis says, calmly, as if it's obviously enough to force the soldier to change his mind, "and I think you're better than that, on dry land. You're a musketeer, a great one from what I heard, so I'm sure you know when to fight and when to retreat. Well, here it's even worse, so we should really get away," the captain finishes, calmly, but in a firm tone, and after a moment Athos nods, admitting he his right, more to himself than at the man. 

Both stay still, almost rigid, hands over the wooden balustrade, while the sailors behind them get on with their assignments, still Athos can feel the eyes of everyone on his back, he can feel the fine hairs on his neck standing under the insistent scrutiny. He isn't sure if they're waiting for him to give the order to attack, which Aramis would oppose in a second, or if they're just waiting for him to explode and do something stupid enough that their Captain will kick him and his friend off the boat, to hell with the pact, to be finally free to go back to their pirates' affair. What they don't know is that Athos is trying very hard from doing one of the two things, thanking the self-control he was taught while growing up. 

In the meanwhile, the tiny dot moves closer and closer, until it takes the vague outline of a ship, white sails shaping themselves against the incredibly blue sky. For just a second Athos has to shake from his mind the idea that he was expecting black sails and rotten wood, but just a second later he regains controls of himself, ridding his head of comical fantasies. Instead, he focuses on Aramis concentrated face, the pirate's jaw is tense, his body looks ready to move, to take action, as a cat hiding in the bushes and waiting for his prey. Except for Athos already knows that time they are the prey, and Aramis is just waiting to know how quick they'll have to run. 

After a long, endless minute, with a sigh, Aramis brings the telescope to his face once more, but suddenly he frowns, in a mixture of wonder and confusion. 

"You must definitely see that," he says, passing the telescope to Athos, some sort of glee in his voice. Perplexed Athos takes the object almost gingerly, ignoring once more the similar one fastened to his belt, but then holds it in both hands to take it to his face. 

It takes him a few moments to get the ship into focus, then to find the right spot where he should probably watch, where probably the captain is, but when he finds it he can immediately see the shape of a very feminine body.

"Is that a woman…?", he says aloud, almost a question, something he can't believe he's really seeing while he adjusts the focus to really see that female captain, but the moment the lenses reach the right point his breath sticks in his throat, "it can't be," he murmurs letting go of the last air still in his lungs. 

He doesn't know how to move, he doesn't know how to talk. And he definitely can't take his eyes away. He hears Aramis asking what's happening, worried, but is far and low, as a voice carried by the wind in the midst of a storm. He feels his hands sweat around the shiny metal, acid rising from his stomach to the back of his throat. 

"She's a ghost. She's dead." Athos whispers, to no one, probably to that same wind carrying distant noises as in a too vivid dream. 

It can't be her. She can't be the woman he has seen hanging by her neck. She can't be the woman his dearest friend buried outside the little cemetery. 

Except she is. 

Except, even if he has known the real her for such a short time, he has to admit he must believe it's her.

After what she has done to him, to his brother, to his family, to his heart, he can't put over Anne, no, not Anne, never again Anne, that she had seduced Remi and gotten out of that mess alive. She had manipulated him until she destroyed his whole life, after all, why not Remi?

But he doesn't really care how she had done it, his brain suggests in a moment of lucidity, the only thing that matters at the moment is that it is her. She is alive. She is the one who's destroying even his new life. 

She's the definition of Evil, she's the rot infesting the sea. 

"Attack that ship," he says in the most controlled and cold tone he can muster, in stark contrast with the bang of the telescope against the wooden rail. Everyone seems silent, everyone is keeping their breath. Or maybe he's just unable to hear anything more than the beating of his own heart. 

"I told you, we can't, we'll already be lucky if…" but Aramis can't finish the sentence. Athos grabs him by the shirt, shaking him. 

"Attack that damn ship! Kill her!" he yells in his face, eyes wide open like the ones of someone who's really lost his brain functions, spit on his lips, fists so tight he's hurting his own hands. 

It takes Aramis a few second to realize the man just attacked him. Aramis shoves him back with force, sending him against the wooden railing. He doesn't care about what's happening, he isn't going to lose his men because of someone who had clearly lost his mind. 

"I don't take orders from you! Calm down!" he yells, watching Athos grab the wood with force. Heavy breaths are shaking Athos' body, sweaty hairs now sticking to his forehead. 

"That woman should be dead! That woman must be dead!" Athos yells once more, "She's evil!" and in a flash he jumps forward, charging toward Aramis once more, not even knowing to do what, just out of instinct, out of a primal need to physically do something, anything, to get rid of a scary ghost suddenly haunting him in a more real way, one that not even wine can erase from his mind. 

"I've no idea what you're saying, but we're not going to die because you just lost the reason! Use your brain," Aramis answers, almost calmly, keeping Athos away from himself with a hand on his chest. He knows the man could easily break his wrist and really get his rage on him, but he also believes that Athos isn't so far gone. He wonders, though, how insane he really is in that moment. For a moment he wonders how much better would be with Porthos there, with them, to calm Athos down. 

"It's my mission, my King! she dies now," Athos hisses between teeth, and a moment later he has his sword against Aramis naked throat. Except it takes less than a blink for Aramis to having his pistol out and pointed at Athos. 

"Don't. Don't make me shoot you, lower your sword, take a breath. You're being more stupid than what you could take when in your right mind. We can't attack now, we'll do soon," Aramis tries to calm him down. Even if he barely knows the man he seems one to always keep his head, maybe a little broken at the edges because of Porthos' capture, but not one to ignore when a situation is of absolute disadvantage and surely going to end in blood. He has no idea of shooting him, but he plays on the fact that Athos can't know about that. 

Athos doesn't even look at the pistol pointed at him, though, he'd stopped caring about his life a long time before, but he looks at his own sword, shaking faintly. His hand is trembling. He's the best swordsman at King Louis' court and he's so far gone that he can't hold a sword steady in his hand. With a pained moan, he lowers it, uncaring of the tiny drop of blood it had left on Aramis' throat. The pirate doesn't seem to care either because he just nods and lowers his pistol. 

"Turn the ship around! Fast!" Aramis yells to his crew with a look at the other vessel quickly approaching. 

Athos turns toward the sea, telling himself that the wet he feels on his face, the prickling in his eyes, it's because of the salty water. The ship is now well visible, the dark shape of the woman clear to the naked eye, standing still and proud at the bow of the ship. He can imagine her grinning, that grin she had given him so many times when something forbidden or naughty had come to her head. But not that grin is not just naughty, now it's pure evil, dirty, the smirk of a pitiless criminal. The Anne he'd loved is dead, she had been for a long time, and now all he can see is the ghost of the woman who ruined his life, who had killed his brother, a ghost so real and so near he almost can't breathe. A ghost without a name to curse to the sky. 

He gulps, drool hurting his dry throat, then, with all the dignity he can muster, he definitely sheathes his sword. 

"She's the devil. Kill her before she kills us all," he only says mid voice, before calmly walking under everyone's gaze to go below deck.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By that point I don't even know if I'm posting too late or too soon XD 
> 
> Thank you for your comments, really, I love them and I love you! I read everything the moment I get the mail, I'm just sloooow at replying ;)

Athos climbs the stairs slowly, the light and noises hitting him like the most ferocious battle, head pulsing as if hit by a musket ball. Over and over. 

The first thing he notices, now that, for the first time, he's forced to listen to the sounds drilling holes in his skull, is how different the noises on a ship are the ones he's used to. No high pitched voices, no laughing kids or clucking chickens. Not all the noises of a city, just the lapping waves, men whistling, rough lines scratching against old wood. 

The second thing to get his attention, instead, is the captain. Aramis is standing half turned toward the open sea, a white shirt, the first buttons unfastened, showed a bit too much of his tanned chest and barely hid a golden crucifix. He was wearing black leather pants, the kind Athos thinks are just for show more than for comfort, sure that such tightness could only impede half the moves needed to fight. But apparently on his own ship Aramis doesn't care much about fighting. For a second Athos' eyes fix on the absolutely messed up, tiny ponytail, but a second later he just shakes his throbbing head. 

He shouldn't be watching the captain like that. Actually, he shouldn't be watching the captain at all. He's there for a mission, one that has already enough potential to ruin his life forever. Not that he still has something left to ruin, thinking about it, but the last thing he needs is lust. For a pirate. 

"Hope the sun isn't too much for you," Aramis half kids, half accuses, seeing him, totally ignoring Porthos' protective growl "I was starting to think we lost you…as we lost all the wine," the smirk to end that sentence a clear accusation.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll soon find some other wine for free," Athos replies, sarcastic, trying to overlook that he's suggesting to steal and clearly not hinting, instead, at doing something about it. 

A few days and he's already turning into a pirate himself. Great.

As if reading his mind Porthos raises a brow.

"So, why all the fuss? I've heard men talk about something odd," he asks, ignoring his friend glare. 

Aramis sighs, shaking his head. 

"I'm not sure. It's probably nothing, but a ship with no flag seemed to almost follow us for a while. He kept our same course…"

"Maybe it was about the right wind only?" Athos asks just to show he's interested and could be worried, but without even knowing if what he had just said makes sense.

"Maybe they noticed they were on the same course of a *pirate* ship and they ran as anyone with a working brain should do," Porthos interrupts them, arms crossed over his chest.

"We're fighting for the same thing and the same King, right now, so…" Aramis starts, but Athos interrupts him by raising a hand. That's a discussion they really don't want to have right now. Actually, it's the kind of discussion no one, ever, should have with Porthos. 

"Gentlemen, we were talking about a ship that was worrying you both, right?" he reminds the two men, keeping himself from sighing. He's the last person who could sigh for some distraction, after he'd spent the last three days drunk, in the company of rats. 

"We have no flag either," Aramis specifies with a glare at Porthos, "that could have worried them, but they had the chance to get away sooner and even faster."

"I've to admit something was really off with that ship," Porthos concedes, with half a glance in Aramis' direction. 

Athos sighs, instinctively watching behind them, as if he could still see the odd ship. He hates to be so out of his depths, to not have complete control. He hates even more that now that he's marginally sober the wine in his stomach is definitely fighting with the waves rolling the ship. 

"I don't think we'll have an answer now. If you're sure it wasn't An…the ship we're searching for, I say we'll keep the route and go take Brujon as we should. Maybe he'll have some information from Treville," Athos passes a hand through his hair, nervously, the only display of still being incredibly shaken by the recent discovery. He still can't even say her name. But that's no longer her name, Anne is dead. He knows and he's pretty sure she knows that too. He just wonders which name she uses now, he just needs to know what name he should use to curse her, the name that will feel like poison on his lips. 

Thinking about it, about her name, Athos just then realizes the oddest thing: the lack of questions. 

He gives Aramis a curious glance, then to Porthos. So, while he was hidden and drinking the pain away from his soul, the two men hadn't spent all their time fighting and bickering. Apparently, Porthos had answered at least some of Aramis' questions with the little he knows about Athos' past. He's pretty sure Constance added her own information, from the few details she had caught here and there talking with him. 

Maybe, at that point, given the situation they're in, it's time to tell Porthos a little more than "she's dead" and "she told me she was something she had never been". Not to Aramis, though. He has no intention of showing all his vulnerability to a pirate, even less to tell him things that won't be useful in a fight. It has absolutely nothing to do with the odd attraction toward the man, which scares Athos to death, more than any possible odd ship. 

"Porthos, I'd like to talk to you. In private," Athos asks, with just a casual glance to Aramis, who apparently decides to just ignore them and go check the route for the tenth time that morning.

They aren't in the city, or at the court. They are at sea and Aramis had never cared for subtlety or fake courtesy. If the two men want to talk alone he is more than alright with that. After all, he only is the one who'll help them in that mission to then disappear at sea. He'd been that for years now. The lover, the friend, the enemy, who then just drop everything and run away on a ship. He's the one who, in the end, has no one but his men. And he's alright like that. Fewer people around, fewer risks to get hurt. Love everyone, trust a few. Strange motto, he knows, but he needs it to survive. 

Sure enough, things are no different with his two guests. He could easily be friend with Porthos, in another life, he can see the two of them around Paris, betting and seducing and having fun. He can, even more easily, imagine himself with Athos. With those clear eyes always tormented, the hair permanently slipping on his face and his pristine jacket, perfect enough to be in front of a king even on that ship. Even now that it's always open. 

But that's just fantasy, that's what could have happened in another life, one where he'd have kissed his mother and his sisters to leave for Paris and become a Musketeer. One where they aren't dead and he isn't cursed. 

How things are he is okay with faking interest in the maps to let the two men talk. 

In the meantime Porthos nods and leans against the ship's banister, ready to listen. Athos gets near him, the wood scratchy even with the rough cotton of the shirt to protect his wrists.

To watch the waves makes him even dizzier, nausea almost overwhelming, but he can't face Porthos, he can't face anything but the open sea if he wants to confess his darkest secrets. 

"The woman, the captain of that ship, she's my wife," he begins in little more than a whisper, as soft as the waves foam, "she's Anne," he adds as if it isn't clear enough. Porthos nods. He's tense, but Athos is sure it's the same tension Porthos would have while facing a skittish kitten. 

"I thought she was dead," he offers, and for a second Athos could almost kiss him. It's obvious that's not a real news to him, probably to no one on board, and still, his friend is letting him set his pace, he's giving him the chance to start from wherever he wants to tell his story.

"I killed her. Well, I put her to death and saw her hanging, obviously to a different outcome than the one I was sure of when I rode away," Athos feels more than hears his own voice starting to break, he looks at Porthos, but the man just nods, no sign of comfort, not a try at touching, and Athos is once more immensely grateful. He has nothing against physical contact, sometimes he even needs that kind of comfort, but he's thankful that Porthos knows him so well to also know when not to offer it. A single hug in that moment could sentence the end of Athos walls, could stop him from keeping punishing himself over that thing, while he still justifies himself. He isn't ready to see that absurd dichotomy erased, sure enough not by a single embrace.

"She tried to assault my brother, probably to steal something precious, he reacted by hitting her and she…she killed him," Athos makes a pause, unable for a second to gulp, to blink, or even to breath. He remembers that day as if it is now, he remembers Thomas' body on the floor, his shirt torn and bloody, the red spreading quickly on the expensive cotton, while the room filled with the cries and the pleas of Anne, covered in blood too, face and lip swollen.

Porthos just nods, giving Athos all the times he needs to regain control, breath steady, almost in an effort to help his friend to stead his too.

"I was the Comte, I had to uphold the law, I couldn't run as I'd have wanted, so I got her hanged. Obviously, I missed something from when I saw her hang to when I saw the pitiable coffin pass on the hill in front of my house. Or maybe she was too evil even for the Devil itself and it sent her back," he finishes, unsure if he needs to add something for Porthos to really get how painful and wrong all that had been, but the other musketeer seems to catch up fast.

"Could we then consider she's doing that as a revenge against you?" Porthos asks, carefully, almost expecting a violent reaction, but Athos just takes a deep breath, hands on the railing, head almost hidden between his shoulders. He's cold, but he's sure it's nothing clothes could help.

"Yes. No. Maybe." He laughs mirthless at his hollow answer, "Honestly I have no idea. I know she's evil, she's a liar and a murderer and sure enough, she hates me and she's searching for her revenge, but to attack all those French ships to get to me…maybe it's too much. Or maybe it isn't. I only knew her as my Anne, I don't know what goes up in her head for real, I wish I would but…"

"It's okay, we'll find out when we'll catch her. It's not on you, Athos," Porthos interrupts him, this time hugging him with an arm around his shoulders. 

Athos nods, knowing that both of them know that nod it's a lie. No matter what Porthos thinks, it IS on him. If he had done something differently, if he had stayed to really see her die, to check with his own hand that Anne was gone…nothing would have had different for him, but probably a lot of things would be different at that moment, no pirate ship would be attacking French ships and his King wouldn't be on the verge of getting a few of his musketeers heads. And Treville's. And maybe even Richelieu's. But he isn't going to worry about that, actually, in the end, that could be the only point in favor of Anne. 

"Anyway, that doesn't matter, but we really need to let Treville know about her," Athos states, distractedly playing with the lace of his shirt just to keep himself from nervously doing the same with his hair. 

If he still was in Paris it'll be time to cut them, but he's sure it doesn't matter on that ship. At least judging by Aramis'. He doesn't even know why he had noticed Aramis hair. 

"So he knows about her?" Porthos asks, still careful, and Athos almost laughs at the caution of not even telling her name. 

"Is there something that our Captain doesn't know?" and he forces a smile on his lips, grateful for the roaring laugh of his friend.

After all, if she's alive, it means he hadn't killed the woman he loves. 

Had loved. 

He doesn't love her anymore, he doesn't even care she's alive, he only has to find her and bring her to the King. He only has to uphold the law once more. The law. That's what he fights for, what he believes in. Nothing more. 

At that point, Athos doesn't even find ironic that to uphold it he's on a pirate ship. Anything necessary for the law, even to break it for good. 

Not for her though. 

He hadn't had the force to break the law for her. 

She had killed his brother, he never had to do anything different than to hang her. 

 

**

The cabin is silent, the two breaths too low and sporadic to be heard, the slide of the quill on the rough paper the only noise. 

Short words, a quick message from war, with no regards for who it's addressed to, after all, everyone is the same for the man bent over the table, writing at the feeble light of the only candle. 

Everyone deserves nothing more than to die. No one deserves his respect. Spineless, dumb people only fighting for food and money and power, weak to pain and starvation. Weak to sentiments. 

He writes the last words about a ship with no flag, his first target, with a disgusted sneer. 

Lost time, writing empty messages to cowards who probably don't even know what he's talking about. He could have used that time to just attack the ship, to kill whoever is on board, giving satisfaction to his new crew. But he's working for someone, and if he wants for his plan to work he needs them to believe he really is. Too soon to play his own game. 

He slowly drips the sealing wax on the folded letter, watching it spread as warm blood, then turns to give it to the boy standing next to him, barely breathing. 

He's young, he's shaking and his eyes are wide in fear. His clothes are dirty and torn, his skin bruised. 

"I see my men got their fun with you," the man says, no inflection in his voice, he doesn't care either way, it's just a beaten up kid, "you have to learn, pain is what makes you strong, keep being scared like that, keep that tears thing and you'll be weak, just another worm crawling in the filth. Embrace the pain, kid, use it, love it," he keeps going. He doesn't care either way, that boy could die in a minute, for what he cares, but to raise someone to be a good help could also be useful. Or not. 

"I…I…" the kid tries to talk, but his voice breaks in front of the man looking at him with icy eyes, with the same empathy he'd use in front of a table or a tree.

"Whatever, I don't need you if not to take that letter to my contact. You remember when and where, right?" the kids eagerly nods, impatient to do something right to the eyes of the cruel criminal in front of him, "good for you. Lose it and I'll have to personally take time to send you to Hell in the most painful way, am I clear?" and this time the kid doesn't even nod, he just takes a step back, terrified. 

With a creepy laugh, the man blows out the only candle, listening with satisfaction at the boy scrambling to get out as soon as possible. 

**

The harbor is incredibly familiar in his smells, his noises, so similar to the ones of the cities, chaotic, the opposite from the loud-quiet on the ship. There even the lapping of the sea against the docked ships is veiled by voices and screams and laughter, by the noises of goods and crates being unloaded from the holds. 

Athos takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to deeply enjoy the getting back to something he could call home and, mostly, grateful to be standing on something still and steady. Up to now, he's sure he had never appreciated the land, the dirty, solid street, as much as he should have. For a moment he's tempted to fall on his knees and kiss the ground, then his brains get back to work and, with a last deep breath - oh, how he'd missed the stink of people and rotten stuff and of dirt thrown on the roads - he opens his eyes, turning toward Aramis. 

Apparently, to be on land doesn't mean the ship's captain cares to dress a little more. He has a different shirt than the previous day, and Athos almost marvels that he can have such a collection of clothes that show more than hide. Still, sure enough, a nipple almost peaking out of the too thin, light blue shirt isn't his business, neither are the tattoos on display through the thin silk. Or the thin, long, scars barely visible on the tan skin. 

"So, what's the deal now?" Athos asks, annoyingly unaware of the plan for the day. He's usually the one to plan, the one to come up with ideas and lead his friends, it feels odd, different, to depend on someone else. At least, for once, he won't have the responsibility for an eventual bad outcome, he thinks with a pang of guilt at the idea of how Porthos ended up a slave because of him, at the idea that Aramis, not him, had the right plan to save him, and for a moment he's a little less irritated that it will be the man, and not him, giving orders. 

"A few of my men will get provisions," Aramis starts, glaring at Athos when he raises an eyebrow, "as in buying them, because we are pirates, not monsters who steal to farmers or old women selling milk" he underlines, actually shocked that the man really think so low of them. Of him. "In the meantime, we'll go at a tavern I know, we'll meet Brujon there and we'll decide on a way to send the news about the woman…" Aramis takes a small pause, checking it's the right word to refer to Anne, and Athos gives a small nod, "I'm not sure about sending him away again, as you saw we're few on my ship, I may need Brujon, even if he's just starting to learn how to fight, he could be of help."

Athos just nods again, but instead of thinking of a way to send a messenger to Treville, without worrying about the private letter ending up in the wrong hands, he starts to wonder about the ship crew. He knows so little about ships that he had noticed the small number but thought of it as something normal. Apparently, it isn't and, from Aramis' words, it isn't something he's used to either. It's something new and dangerous. Yet the pirate hasn't mentioned about finding new people as if he wants no one to fill the vacant places. Athos has no idea about what could be happening. Maybe a mutiny, but everyone on board seems to trust and like Aramis on a very personal level, it would be hard to imagine someone suddenly attacking him. So maybe they had lost men during some boarding, but it's almost more strange that no one seems to mourn something that big or to worry that such a dramatic thing could happen again. 

For a second he's tempted to just ask, justified by Aramis mention of it, then he decides to avoid the topic, at least for now. He has his own share of things he can hint at but doesn't want to be asked about. 

Instead, he looks around, at the few men he knows by name, Pepen, Serge, the young Luc, disembark with long parcels in their hands, probably the lists of what's needed to eat, drink and shoot. 

Not far away from the ship, half hidden by some crates and a dangling net, d'Artagnan and Constance seem to be discussing something. Not a fight, they're both smiling, but the young man is obviously asking for something the woman doesn't want to do. 

"He wants them to act as a real couple," Porthos offers as an explanation, shrugging at the curious glance he gets from both Aramis and Athos, "she doesn't want to, her husband works with textiles, so it's all about ships and sailors, she's scared someone will notice and recognise her, and we're too close to Paris."

"The kid has no idea what he got himself into," Aramis chimes in, putting an arm on the shoulder of each man, "he's so cute and in love, like a lost puppy," he adds, and for a second Athos can see a strange expression on his face, though passing too fast to be read. 

"Your reputation as a seducer and a lover is even more famous than your fame as a pirate, you shouldn't find love so dangerous, the guy is only seducing her, in a way," Athos adds, almost to tease. 

"Seduction and love are two very distinct things, the first can get you killed, the latter can get you in far worse troubles, my friend," Aramis corrects him with a smile, eyes lingering a second too long on Athos' face, and Athos feels something akin to a shudder run along his spine at the brown eyes searching his like that. Thankfully Porthos breaks the moment shacking the arm from his shoulder with a nasty comment about who and how Aramis can go touch. 

"Anyway, gentlemen, since the wine on board seemed to be all gone in the last few days, what about we go wet our throats and wait for my mate?" Aramis teases while walking in the opposite direction of the couple now, apparently, making up for the small fight. Athos doesn't grumble at him, he's a gentleman, an adult, and a musketeer, he doesn't make faces at the back of someone, so he's not sure why Porthos is secretly snickering. 

**

As Athos had imagined the tavern is almost worse than the watered vinegar they just ordered as wine. 

Not that he really cares about such things, he'd been in places, when drunk and desperate, he is even ashamed to remember. Still, that place makes the tavern where he had met Aramis the first time, look like a royal palace. 

Dirt and grease cover every surface that isn't already rotten or broken by use and the damp air coming from the sea. The floor is covered in wastes and other things that Athos is pretty sure doesn't want to think about, and around every occupied table a barely clad prostitute, in a definitely aggressive way, tries to jump on any man who's up to waste a coin. 

Still, Aramis is obviously keeping up with his name, flirting with the woman sitting almost on his lap, smiling at how she seems to dream of exotic places from every word falling from his lips. 

Porthos, sitting at the other side of the table, is attacked, instead, by a young woman, skin the color of amber, eyes so dark you could get lost in them. But the musketeer isn't interested, not even when the girl offers herself for free, obviously fascinated by the idea of laying with someone different from a stinky sailor. 

When a woman, too young for the job, with too little fabric on her body, tries to sit on his lap, Athos gently pushes her away, gulping down the glass of terrible wine. 

"Seriously?" Athos asks Aramis, while the man's finger sensually caresses the palm of the prostitute, and at Athos raised eyebrow Aramis just shrugs. 

"Better I can offer so close to the ship. Just.. don't really lay with the girls, I'm not sure it'd be healthy," he adds as an afterthought in a very low voice. 

Athos rolls his eyes, just in case the pirate is serious in thinking that, in a moment and a place like that, Athos could even consider the idea of intimacy with a prostitute. In Aramis defense, he knows that if rumors are true probably Aramis is the kind of guy to consider and do the thing, after all, life on a ship must be solitary enough. Still, watching the rough fingers now playing on the sensitive wrist of the woman on his lap, Athos decides not to ask. There are things he doesn't want to know and, even more, he doesn't want to imagine. 

After a few minutes, Aramis whispers something in the ear of the woman, and she gets up, calling the other prostitute, still molesting Porthos, to go with her. Athos is almost sure there's a golden coin in her hand but says nothing. Instead, all three go back to observe the wine, wondering if it really is a good idea to drink it. 

They're at the table closer to the door, so they have a good view on the street and the direction where the ship is harbored. 

It's no more than a few minutes when both Athos and Aramis see the young man they're waiting for entering the tavern. Clairmont behind him. 

Athos frowns, looking for a second at Aramis who has the same expression. Why is a young musketeer cadet in that cove of pirates with a pirate? Wasn't his mission some sort of secret between himself, Treville and the Cardinal? But obviously, Aramis is as confused at him, enough that a single glance is enough to push Brujon in an explanation. 

"It's been their captain idea, he hopes Clairmont will get back with some good news before the Cardinal's head explodes."

"It would be a good reason not to send Clairmont back at all, then," Porthos comments, with a veil of disgust, before gulping down the content of a glass so dirty that, for a moment, Athos expects to see him fall down, dead. When it doesn't happen he nods to the boys, pointing to the chairs with a quick movement of the head. 

"It's actually good Treville sent you here. I actually have some pretty big news, even if I fear it'll be nothing good for the Cardinal's head," Athos says, and if a small, satisfied, smirk appears on his lips Athos is ready to deny it forever, "still, I don't think that's the right place to talk about something so important," he turns, noticing how Aramis is studying Clairmont from head to toes. With a sigh Athos kicks the pirate's leg, "so, any better place where we can go?" he finishes in a louder voice to get Aramis' attention. 

Aramis sighs. 

"We could go back on the ship."

"No," Athos shakes his head, "I don't want for Clairmont to be seen getting up and down, too dangerous."

"Then I fear that's the better place I can offer. Sailors here are either too drunk or too sick to care about what you say, they're only interested in paying a girl to give them syphilis." Aramis replies, and Athos doesn't say anything, sadly sure it isn't a joke but the stating of a fact. 

"All right," he then starts, freeing his face from the strand of hairs in front of it and moving away the cup to lean more on the table, towards the two young men, to talk in a whisper, "Clairmont, I have some information for Treville, I'm not even sure if they're more important or more secret, enough that I won't write them down, too risky, and you have to tell Treville, and Treville only, no one else, clear?" 

At that Clairmont's eyes get huge, shocked from the responsibility and faith Athos is putting on him. Unable to speak he nods, waiting for the musketeer to entrust something so important to him, even ignoring Porthos, who's trying to convince Brujon to give up the pirate life to try a musketeer's one. 

But before any secret could be revealed, Luc enters the tavern, running, breath too short to be able to talk right away. 

"Captain, you need to get back. Now! That ship, the one without a flag…" he pauses, trying to breathe, leaning grateful on Clairmont's shoulder, "she's where we'll have to pass, it's like she's waiting for us."

Aramis frowns, turning toward Athos even if he's replying to Luc. 

"Are we sure they're interested in us? Maybe they're just waiting for permission to enter the harbor…" but the boy shakes his head, getting Aramis' attention back on him.

"We asked around, no one has ever seen that ship, and apparently the crew is also mysterious. Everyone on board wants you back on board and to leave the docks as soon as possible, Captain, the men are getting very nervous" Luc basically begs, more scared than Aramis had ever seen him, enough to scare Aramis too. 

"What about the others?" Athos asks, chiming in at the view of the change in Aramis' expression. 

"Already on board, they sent me to search for the Captain, knowing he probably was here," Athos nods his understand before turning to watch Porthos and then Aramis. 

"I agree with the boy, we should get back. We found out about Anne and suddenly a mysterious ship is following us, I don't like this, too strange to be a simple coincidence," and with that Athos stands, worried that Anne could have started one of her dirty plans, ignoring the pirate captain still sitting on the bench and the fact that he is the one to give orders at sea, but a moment later Aramis gets up too, followed by the other men. Only Clairmont stays on the bench and a second later he stops them. 

"What about me and the message for Treville? I thought it was very important," he asks Athos, getting up just not to have to look at the musketeer from a so low position. 

"You're coming with us," that time is Aramis who reply to something that isn't entirely his business, "if everything is so strange as it looks it could be dangerous to leave you behind."

"Athos?" the cadet asks, almost ignoring Aramis answer.

"For once I fully agree with the pirate," Porthos chimes in, forcing Athos in raising an eyebrow and take a different decision from the one he ha been about to say. 

"Right. You'll come with us, I'll give you all the needed information and drop you at the next safe harbor. I just hope Treville won't get worried enough to send someone after you."

"Clairmont made clear that we couldn't tell how much that trip would take," Brujon reassures him, but before the conversation could continue Valmont is on the door, signaling them that it's really time to move.

No one talks while almost running back to the ship and it takes Athos less than a moment to notice how nervous looking everyone on board is, all watching the anchored ship, there, on their route, almost to mock them, obviously trying to scare them. It's in that second that Athos has no doubt Anne's hand is in that, a perverse play of cat and mouse, psychological torture, the one the woman had clearly used in their marriage. But it could work on the others, not on him. 

"Let's leave, Aramis, we won't let her scare us," he says in a firm tone, imposing himself not to break a little more inside at the fact that Anne really ruined his life up to that point.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter is short, very short. Actually it's not even a chapter, it's less than half a chapter, but things got a little...unreal in my life. Like...zombie apocalypse unreal. Minus the zombies. But I'd rather have them tbh.   
> BUT!  
> Yes, there's a but. In less than 36 hours I'll leave for a week for a comicon (with three cosplays, which are part of my time problem lately), and I didn't want to skip updating for two whole weeks, so I decided to publish what I had time to edit. It could have been a little more but that was the only decent point to cut, you'd have hated me a lot more otherwise :P 
> 
> I still hope to edit all the chapter between tonight and tomorrow and publish the whole thing before leaving, but since I can't promise anything I give you this. 
> 
> I also wanted to update to let you know that even if I skip a week (or 10 days or two weeks) it's not that I abbandoned the fic, actually I still have a lot of chapters already written and I'm constantly working on new ones, it's just about not having free time.

To Athos, the open sea had never seemed more hostile than in that sunny afternoon. 

It glitters like silver under the warm light, with veins of gold as hot as fire interrupted by bands of the deepest blue. The canvas of a painter inspired by God himself, except for that shape breaking the horizon line as if put there by the Devil, with the only aim to ruin the perfection of the Ocean. 

Even the sweet traits of Aramis' face are distorted by that evil shape coming towards them, brow furrowed, shoulders tense while he keeps yelling orders to his men, who are running around on deck like ants, heads down and mouths closed. 

For a second, just one, the strange desire for that ship being Anne's scratches at Athos mind like a cat wanting to enter a closed door. Anne is the evil he knows, the evil he knows how to face. Except he can't ignore that he's just lying to himself. He doesn't know Anne, he never had, she'd always been only a fraud and as such he has no idea what makes her tick, what could really hurt her. 

Apparently, not even a noose had been enough to get through her. 

"They're definitely after us, the ship is getting closer faster than we can run," Aramis admits in a defeated tone, lowering the telescope he had used just a second before. He closes his eyes and shake his head, then gets back to watch the infinite sea in front of them, "I don't recognize the ship or the crew I can see, and the only real enemy who could do something like that…well, he'd be there wanting nothing more than for me to see him. Neither it's the ship of your wife…" he explains, ignoring that every moment of his day he expect for that face to appear in his view, to kill him off. Aramis almost frets for that moment.

"Please, don't call her that," Athos murmurs as if in that situation the important thing is how to call Anne, still the idea to call her his wife…she hadn't been for years now, she's nothing more than an assassin and a pirate. 

Aramis looks at him for a few seconds, then sighs.

"Whatever you want to call her it's not her ship. So we have an unknown crew running after us for unknown reasons. If you like to drink this is the right moment to go at that," Aramis finishes, getting an annoyed look from Athos. 

"I'm a musketeer, not a coward, I don't need to drink, not to wash away memories of enemies, at least. What's the plan?" but all Aramis does is to shake his head, exhausted. 

He looks at his ship, at how he's short of men, even more on arms, and still all hands on deck mean that nothing is left unattended. He looks at Porthos working as one of them even if he still hates the idea of becoming familiar with pirates. And Constance, dress knotted up to make movements easier, calves covered only by clear socks, while she moves crates as heavy as her, together with d'Artagnan. He looks at Clairmont and Brujon, tense and pale while they load as many pistols and muskets as they can find. And Luc, on the door leading below deck, pale and terrified, hand gripping the wood to keep himself standing. 

Athos knows exactly what Aramis is looking at because they're the same details he's observing too. 

"We attack, we board them before they can board us and we pray to be fast enough to get back on our ship when things will go down."

"From a pirate, I'd expect a little more courage and faith in his men," Athos comments, genuinely confused by Aramis attitude, but the man ruefully shakes his head once more. 

"We were invincible once, real pirates, scary bastards robbing Spanish ships of everything we could drag on board, but it was time ago, before… before some men left. Now you see us. The best men at sea but only a few are able to fight, I'm not even sure Serge still remembers how to hold a sword."

"You're saying you are a pirate ship that doesn't attack other ships?" 

"I'm searching for new members of the crew and training the ones I have, in the meantime we do all we can to make things difficult to any Spaniard ship we meet. But I'm sure you noticed we don't even have cannons right now", he concludes shrugging. On his face is obvious how much that situation bothers him, how the cause of that weakening is something bad that, apparently, no one wants to remember or name. 

"I guess a fight on a ship is the same as on land, Porthos and me will be a good help and I pray to God that the two boys and d'Artagnan can really hold a sword."

"Luc won't fight," Aramis interrupts him and for a second Athos feels like laughing, not exactly because of the interruption, but for the whole mess they are in. He got a deal with a pirate to save his best friend and attack another pirate ship in exchange for a free pass. And now there they are, fighting together against a mysterious third ship, with a crew made of pirates who barely know how to fight and kids just learning how to use a weapon. 

It's the kind of dramatic situation Athos actually cherishes and, apparently, Aramis too. 

"I love to win lost causes," Aramis says, looking at Athos face and apparently reading his mind.

"You should have definitely been a musketeer, we get a lot of those."

"And how do they end?"

"Someday I'll let you count my scars," the words are out before Athos can stop them and Aramis smiles, a tiny, knowing and predatory smile that makes him blush.

"So, how does a boarding work?" Athos quickly ask, ready to deny he may have sounded like flirting with Aramis just a second before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for bearing with me, I hope to publish the whole thing tomorrow!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, it's the third time I post this and AO3 just...makes it disappear. So I'm getting a tiny bit nervous. And by that I mean I'm about to scream. Anyway.
> 
> I warn you: this chapter is dark. It contains canon violence - duels, blood, gunshot wounds - and some nice characters will get hurt bad enough (but since we are at about 1/3 of the fic the outcome is obvious enough, I guess). So, not that the rest of the fic is sparkling unicorns and glitters, but just in case know that this is more violent. But since you probably are a masochistic fangirl who wants to tear up on poor little babies - gets one to know one - go on and read ;) 
> 
> Two more things.   
> First one, I keep reading all the comments the second I get the mails, and you have no idea how much they - and the kudos!!! - mean to me. I'm just lame and lazy and busy so it takes me a while to reply. But I appreciate every single click! 
> 
> Second thing: on tumblr I am [cmorgana](http://cmorgana.tumblr.com/) too. I mainly post about the musketeers, other shows, random stuff and stupid jokes. Hit me if you want to chat ;)

Athos feels nervous, hands almost sweaty, something he doesn't remember feeling since he'd been little more than a kid. 

After so many battles, wars and duels, he should be used to those moments before running toward his opponent, knowing that it could be the last run of his life. And to be honest, for a while now, that fear had left him, no real reasons but just being a musketeer, to stay alive, and since being a musketeer will also mean to die fighting…Athos had simply forgotten what really fearing for your life feels. There's the tension, there's that sensation in your veins that screams to you to win, to kill your adversary, and that other feeling, a lot more physical, that helps you forget about pain, and tiredness, and anything but the sword in your hand and the fluid movements to avoid the hits. But the real fear, the one about not being good enough, not knowing what to do, and to die for a stupid mistake…no, that had left him a long time ago. Maybe not even because of all the experience, of living that life every day for five years now, no, Athos is pretty sure his ego had played a bigger part. He's considered the best swordsman in Paris and he knows he is, why should he be scared of some opponent barely trained in dueling? No matter what he blames on himself, some things he can proudly admit. 

Still, now, waiting on that wood deck, the ship rolling under his feet, he's sure all that certainty about battle just left him. Undoubtedly fights on a ship are the same than on land, swords and pistols and blood, still, he had never fought on a ship, he'd never fought against a sailor or a pirate. He knows absolutely nothing of the world he's suddenly projected in, probably not even how to brandish a sword being sure not to damage something. 

"Are you suddenly scared?" Porthos question is clearly a joke about Athos' rigid stance, but the man flinches internally at hearing that. 

He gives his friend an annoyed and astonished glare at the same time.

"You suddenly seem almost too at ease about fighting side by side with pirates," he teases back, relaxing a little, almost as a reflex, at Porthos smile. 

"A battle is a battle and God knows if I missed a sword in my hand these last months," and before Athos could even think of answering, that's it, something changes and all the men around him are charging toward the other ship, running on too thin boards or throwing themselves at the enemy with huge, rigid, ropes. He hesitates for just a second, then shrugged to himself. A battle is a battle and he lives for that jolt the clashing of swords gives him. 

Athos runs, ignoring the sea slushing under the unstable plank he's crossing, and jumps on the opposite deck with grace, just in front of one of the enemies. The man is big, covered in scars and tattoos, and Athos has to admit he looks nothing like any sailor he'd ever met but a lot more like the mercenaries and murderers he's used to facing. As such, once you learn how to avoid violent hits it's almost too simple to slash them with your sword, and this time is no different. A few jumps, an almost too easy step back to avoid the clumsy attempt to wound him with the rusty sword, and Athos attacks, hitting the man in the chest, just below his throat, where the old shirt laid open and tattered. In a second the enemy is down on the floor, blood over the hands clutching his own body and Athos moves toward someone else. 

He punches a man trying to hit d'Artagnan from behind and then attacks a short, fat, man who almost looks out of place among those huge others. It's another simple match, a few strikes of the sword, a slash on the man’s cheek, a slap the second he's distracted by the pain and another enemy is down, one who, apparently, had never learned how to fight. 

That's when Athos notices Him. The man standing near the wheel with a satisfied and nearly perverse little grin. 

He isn't fighting, if not by kicking away anyone who dares to fall near him, even his own crew, and it takes just a second for Athos to realize that he is the real threat. 

The man's eyes look cold as ice but they almost light up every time a harder hit is given and blood sprays on the deck. Apparently, he doesn’t even care which side the dead had been at. 

It's the freezing shiver running down his back that prompts Athos to attack the man. He approaches him almost slowly, unseen in the crowd, hoping to get the first hand from the beginning, he raises the sword, ready to slash it in the man's direction, but mid-movement the blade of the opponent blocks his. The musketeer almost flinches at the unexpected move, but immediately retract his arm, swishing the sword once more, from left to right, hoping to find an opening under his rival right arm, but again he's stopped by the shiny blade. 

He takes a step back, regaining his breath, walking around the enemy, mirroring his moves like in a macabre dance, searching to see, to understand, what could be the vulnerable spot of the scary, cold man. But before Athos can get what he wants the man attacks, a clean and quick slash toward Athos' chest, that just by chance only ruins his shirt. 

Athos has to give it to him, he's good, better than most swordsmen he'd ever faced. 

From that moment on is a series of lunges, and slashes, and hits, until the two pause for a second, both breathing hard, bleeding from the many wounds but none of those really dangerous for their lives, both by now oblivious of the ongoing battle, aware only of their own duel.

Once again is Athos who breaks the unnatural calm. He lunges toward the man, pushing him against the hard wood of the ship, taking the breath from him. With satisfaction Athos gets over him, looking down with a satisfied smile, sword ready to deliver the last hit, but he doesn't even see the man move at an almost unnatural speed to produce a knife from behind his back. 

Athos groans loudly at the searing pain of the blade sinking in his leg and slashing it toward the knee. He feels dizzy as if the world is starting and ending with the terrible throb in his thigh, but he forces himself to think again in less than a second, that ability the difference between life and death. 

With fury the musketeer grabs the man wrist, tightening his hand crushing it until the man flinches and lets the dagger fall. That's the tiny distraction he had waited for, the moment the man attention is caught by relenting the knife, Athos pierces the man's shoulder with the sword, quickly pulling it out to hit again while his enemy is busy dealing with the pain. He knows it's a matter of seconds, it hadn't taken long to him to get out of his own head, of the cloud of pain, and sure enough, the cold opponent he's facing isn't weaker than him. 

Athos lifts the sword to hit again, to give the final blow, to kill who apparently is their problem, but he doesn't have time to lunge it down that with an almost supernatural quickness his enemy strikes up with the blade, slashing through Athos' arm to pierce his shoulder and, at the same time, grabs his leg, sinking fingers into the bleeding wound. 

Athos howls, reputation forgotten while his body fights to even decide which one of the two pains is the worse, on which one to focus. By reflex, he slashes the sword toward his opponent wrist, but when the man takes it away to avoid the blade Athos steps back. One step, two. Three. He hits against the wooden banister and he falls, slipping along it, blood smearing it with a vivid red line.

He's still holding his sword, ready to try and defend himself when the man will come to probably slit his throat, but he's sure he can't really get up, he can't fight with the pulsing pain and hands slippery with blood. 

The man doesn't attack. He slowly gets up, obviously aware that Athos isn't going to, and with all the calm in the world, uncaring for his own bleeding wounds, he starts to load his pistol.

"I admit I was starting to appreciate your style," he says unfazed by the whole situation, "but you disappointed me, you let pain win you over, you were so close…" he raises his pistol, not more than a few steps away from him and Athos takes a deep, shaking, breath. So that's it. Killed by a man who gives him the chills, on a boat in the middle of nothing, surrounded only by a placid sea that's going to be his eternal resting place. Not even a grave for him, but probably that's the one pity God gives him: not to have a grave where no one would go to cry on. 

Anne be damned! 

His last few thoughts and they're for her, the idea that she isn't the woman he'd married, the one who should cry on his resting place. The idea that such an evil monster will survive him. 

Even worse, the thought that thinking of her just made him weak enough to close eyes before the pistol that's going to end his life. 

"ATHOS!" Aramis scream seems to pop the strange bubble that had kept both the opponents in their own world, away from the fury of the battle, from the noises and screams. Both recoils, distracted for a second, enough for Aramis to jump between them, pistol in his hand. 

Slowly the mask of fury and hate that's the man face turns into something even creepier, something that Athos could swear raised the hairs on his neck: perverse sadism would be too little to describe it. 

"I always appreciate when I get to finish a work after years," he tells with a devious smirk, taking a step toward Aramis, apparently sure that the pirate isn't going to shoot, not yet, at least. Aramis doesn't lower his pistol, still, he frowns, confused, "Someone who cares could take offense if you don't recognize him, luckily I don't, I only want you dead. I have a nice scar reminding me of you, I thought yours should too, René."

Athos watches from his spot on the floor, forgotten, as Aramis body suddenly becomes rigid, shaken only by a groan that can't be human, and suddenly the pirate starts to shake, so hard Athos isn't sure how could he possibly aim to kill their enemy.

Aramis mind almost goes black for a second, just to then produce faces floating in his memories. Terrible scenes. Blood and a pain few people could really imagine. Yet he suddenly forces to take back his control, to shove all that in the back of his mind, in that place where that real nightmare is locked in every single moment of his waking life.

"Grimaud, demon from Hell," he speaks in a whisper, "You should be dead! You must die," and that Aramis yells, with a hatred in his voice that Athos had never heard before, not even from his own lips while cursing Anne. 

"Still, I'm the one who gets to end that pathetic story, I heard a lot about you," the words on Grimaud's lips sound cold, as if the man doesn't really care, as if, whatever story that is, branded only Aramis soul, leaving his untouched. 

It's a second, the time to move a finger to pull the trigger, a loud bang, and without any other noise Aramis is on his knees, unable to breathe but still pointing the pistol at the man. 

"You die with me," he murmurs in a scratching whisper before he shoots, and this time, to Athos, the bang seems even louder, the smoke from the gunpowder so acrid to make his eyes cry. 

"Aramis?" he calls, forcing his body to move toward the pirate, toward his friend, he probably should consider him so since he just saved his life. He had maybe considered him such even before.

"Is he dead?" Aramis asks, finally falling back against Athos now kneeling behind him, totally unaware of his own wounded leg, while Aramis blood spreads on his abdomen, staining the shirt, dripping on the deck. 

Athos glances at the man lying still.

"Maybe. Probably," it's all he can offer while holding Aramis, pressing on the wounds with his good hand. 

"I…check, please," Aramis asks again, now voice so faint for a second Athos is sure that's going to be his last sentence, ready to check or kill the man just to let Aramis go to Hell with that certainty, but before he can move loud bangs, pistols and muskets, explodes all around him. It's just in that moment that Athos fully realizes there still is a battle going on. He looks around, at the bodies and the blood, at the men of both parties wounded and exhausted, not a real victor in sight, even less with both captains dead or dying. 

"We must go, we must retreat," he says to himself more than at Aramis, by then almost passed out, bleeding so much Athos marvels he's still alive. 

It takes a deep breath and some profanities for Athos to get up, on his feet. The wounded leg hurts almost unbearably, but it keeps his weight, nothing major had been damaged, the same for the arm, he wiggles his fingers, and bends it at the elbow, relieved to see it still works. Mostly. 

"We need to go, Aramis stay with me," he says while grabbing the man under his arms and dragging him on his feet. Aramis moans in pain, barely awake, "don't die on me, don't you dare," he repeats moving the passed out man behind him and starting to drag him along with the arms over his shoulders, like a heavy rucksack. The pain in his leg and shoulder is excruciating, he’s not sure he could take the weight for long, but there's nothing else he can do. 

"PULL BACK! PULL BACK!" Athos yells with all his breath, not knowing if Aramis' men are up to take orders for him, not knowing if that's the right order to give, not even sure about what to do if he's going to be obeyed. Apparently, though, the pirates are good enough even with misspelled orders and no captain, because they are quickly moving in a different pattern, moving back toward the side of the ship, towards the lines and planks connecting the two boats. 

The relief only lasts a few seconds, because suddenly the dead weight on his shoulders starts to be too much for his wounded body. Athos staggers then fall on his knees, howling with pain when his leg bends. He quickly turns to watch Aramis. Blood is still oozing from the wound, too much, too quick, but he's still breathing even if weakly. Athos presses both hands on the wound, looking at the blood spilling between his fingers.

"Help! I need help!" he yells, sure it is probably only going to draw their enemies and get them killed, but hoping one of theirs could get there first. 

If there really is a God He'd better give him at least that, Athos thinks, hopeful and angry. And apparently, the Divinity or fate or just sheer luck heard him, because a few seconds later Porthos is kneeling near him. 

"Athos, you're wounded," he only says, face streaked with blood but apparently okay, and Athos takes a deep breath.

"It's nothing. Aramis, we have to take him on the ship," and that's when Porthos looks down at the pale man, at the blood leaving his body at a lethal pace. 

"We have to go, the others can keep us safe only for so long. There's nothing we can do for him," Porthos says calmly even if the rush is still obvious in his voice.

"He's still alive!"

"Just for a few more seconds, we can't…"

"Porthos, would you let me die alone among enemies?" Athos asks and he can feel Porthos reserves crumbling, "you don't like him, but he's one of us now, he saved you."

Porthos groans. 

"You die to save him, you're in a big lot of troubles," Porthos concludes taking Aramis up bridal style, while enemies start running at them, the last pirates either dead or already on board of their own ship. 

Athos doesn't even realize they're now running, his hands still pressing Aramis abdomen, even if in an absurd contortion of bodies, while the man became paler and colder every instant, heartbeat so faint for a second Athos can't even feel it. He can feel his own wounds throb and hurt, slick blood run along his leg and arm, but it doesn't seem so important while Aramis stops to breath for a few seconds, and it’s in that moment that he realises they're finally on their ship, men working quickly to cut all the lines still connecting the ships to run as far away and as fast possible from the Hell they just faced. 

"Call the doctor! Where the hell is Lemay?" Athos yells with all the authority he can muster, but it's only Constance who appears in front of him. 

"He stayed back, at the harbor," she explains with caution, eyes on Aramis. 

"He's dying!" Athos yells again as if the fact itself could be a reason to magically have the doctor in front of them. 

"I'm so sorry, Athos," she says, genuinely, and a second later Aramis wheezes, then stops breathing.

"I need a doctor," Athos repeats, in a small voice, a plea without hope while tears finally begin to strike his dirty cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this while on vacation and then in a car under the rain, so if you see a few more mistakes than the usual thousand ones I'm sorry, I'll blame it on the wrong places to do these things :P


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while, uh?   
> I'm so sorry, but I really can't do better than that. The fic is there but I need days longer than 24 hours to be able to edit the chapters, lol. So I'm super sloooow. I didn't think that renovation of a house could be so time consuming.   
> If you want you can keep up with my ramblings and how the fic is going on [my tumblr](http://cmorgana.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Warning for the chapter...well, still mention of blood, wounded Aramis, sewing up both of those guys...the usual you can imagine ;)

The tension is like electricity in the air, the smell of blood and gunpowder, mixed with the salty one of the Ocean, almost nauseous. 

But Athos smells nothing, feels nothing, not even the pain in his tormented body, he can only think of Aramis, dying in his arms. He isn't sure why he really cares, he's someone he has a deal with, a pirate, nothing more, still, it feels like Aramis' life is his responsibility, like he has the obligation to protect and save him. 

Instead, Aramis is dying on the deck of his own ship and there's nothing Athos can do. 

"All right, we don't need Lemay to save him!" Constance's voice breaks a silence that never really existed outside Athos' head, and he looks up, in his eyes the wonder of a kid and the confusion of someone who has no idea where to start from, "Quick, quick! Porthos, bring Aramis in his cabin, d'Artagnan I need boiled water, find Luc, ask him for all the clean rags he can find," Constance orders around, with the self-confidence of someone who's spent all her life on a pirate ship saving basically dead men, and everyone obeys her with no questions, running to do their designated duty. 

Athos watches Porthos taking Aramis away from him, leaving behind just a trail of dark blood, and it's suddenly as if his pain is stronger once more as if he's the one being moved and touched and led to his deathbed. 

It's Constance's fingers, snapping in front of his eyes, that bring him back to reality, almost once more dulling the pain in his bleeding thigh. 

"If you can move, then come with me, we need to search Lemay's stuff, I'm sure he left something on board. If your injuries are too bad… Serge will probably stitch you up," she concedes, realizing just now that the blood and pain on Athos' face aren't coming from Aramis only. 

"I think I can reach Aramis' cabin," he replies, confused, "I can help, I'm better than Porthos with wounds," he ends, trying to get on his feet and grateful for the hand Constance offers him. 

He's no longer sure about how he feels, the physical pain now is sharp and pulsing, even if the wounds appear to be bleeding less than before, but his mind still seems half asleep, like that cozy feeling of being under heavy blankets in a snowy morning. 

Athos looks at Constance run away, below deck, one side of the skirt folded into the belt to make movements easier in the tight spaces of the ship. He can't believe it's little more than a week or two that he'd known her, it feels like they'd been on that ship all their lives, like he…like he had a lot more time to feel that strange buzz in his stomach around Aramis. It's nothing, he knows that it's probably not even respect for the man, Aramis is a pirate, he is a Musketeer, there can't be real esteem between them. Athos guesses it's some sort of fascination for a figure that, after all, he had never met before and who has a life of adventures and dangers, even more than him. Athos knows that feeling will go away soon enough, still, at the moment, he can't even think of living without it. 

A foot in front of the other. Again. Again. Repeat until he reaches the steps leading below deck. Easy enough, something he's sure he can do even without thinking, even feeling the pain. And then it's just steps and another sequence of feet in front of each other. 

He shakes, blood and sweat now dried on his skin by the cold wind, exhaustion, and fear, but he doesn't stop. He has to reach the cabin, he has to help Aramis and he has to save him. 

Nothing else matters. He doesn't matter. 

Apparently, he's the last one to reach the tight space, even Constance is already there, sleeves rolled up and hands in a basin of hot water. Luc is holding the bucket for her, so pale that Athos isn't sure for how long the kid will keep standing before passing out. D'Artagnan is in front of the desk, submerging in even hotter water what must be Lemay's tools. 

Athos has to force himself to finally turn toward the bed. 

Porthos is bent over Aramis' body, eyes wide in horror and fear while he tries to clean some of the blood to at least see the wound. 

Aramis lays still on the narrow bed, pale as the sheets now covered in blood. Someone, probably Porthos, had divested him and covered just one tiny bit of decency with one corner of the sheet. Athos smiles at that. It's not like any of them would have cared to see Aramis naked, probably not even Aramis would have cared to be seen naked, sure enough Constance isn't going to notice if something is going to cover Aramis most private parts, not while she's the only hope to save his life, still Porthos had felt like protecting at least that, like that corner of fabric is something to help Aramis. 

With a tiny smile still on his lips, Athos reaches his friend, patting him on the shoulder.

"He's still alive," Porthos comments, running his fingers from Aramis' chest to his throat.

"I know. Are you wounded?" Athos asks while forcing himself not to touch Aramis without a reason. The man looks already in another place, hopefully, a better one, no show of life in his body if not the feeble thump of his heart. 

"No, no, it's not my blood. You are, instead, right?" they keep talking but their eyes never leave the man lying in front of them. 

They whisper about the battle, about Athos' wounds, about how strange the whole attack had been. They don't mention Aramis, there's nothing to say about him. 

"Athos, please, wash your hands in the hot water, it's something Lemay taught me," Constance interrupts the words used to fill the silence, her voice sweet but not hiding the order, and without even thinking Athos is in front of Luc, hands in scorching hot water to clean the blood from them. His, Aramis', he doesn't know. 

It's once more Constance's voice that forces him outside of his own head. 

"Athos! The bullet is still inside, I need you!" 

That's what makes it. What turns Athos back into a soldier, into a man, into a Comte, even.

He's needed and he'd sworn his life into helping people and protecting his brothers. Aramis is his brother at the moment. 

He almost shoves Porthos aside in the rush of getting his still wet hands on Aramis hip. 

"It'll be something bad to see," he warns Constance, but all he gets in return is an annoyed look and then a yell for Luc to go out. Athos nods toward Porthos, "keep him still, he could wake up, even if I wish he won't."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing? I mean, it would mean he's alive," d'Artagnan asks, the basin full of water and tools in his hands. He looks almost as pale as Luc and his face and shoulder had obviously been at the wrong side of a sword. 

"He's barely there. He wakes up because of pain while I've fingers in his guts… that's not something we want, it would probably be the end," that's the last thing Athos says before looking down at the wound. He takes a few deep breaths. He had already done that in the past, he had even fished a bullet out of Porthos shoulder while the man had been awake and spitting words that not even the Devil could have invented. 

Apparently, that isn't enough to make things easier for him. 

He closes his eyes, sight a sense he doesn't need in that situation, he also ignores sounds, all his world starts and ends at the point of his fingers. Never in his life had Athos hoped so much to touch a little ball of iron. 

When he throws it on the floor he feels his eyes sting with tears. 

"We can start to sew him up," he says in a whisper, thanking God for the chest still slowly going up and down with shallow breaths. 

"D'Artagnan and I can do that, you need to clean your wounds and tend to it, just because you're in better shape than our Captain doesn't mean you look good," Constance stops him while he reaches for the needle. Athos looks at her like she's grown a second head like her words don't even make sense. His are barely scratches compared to Aramis', he's in pain and still feels the blood running down his leg and arm, but it doesn't matter. The pirate's condition is far worse and it is because he saved him. He doesn't even notice she has called Aramis "our Captain".

"Constance is right. If she can sew dresses I'm sure she can leave a nice scar on a pirate too. Come on," Porthos is already behind him, hand on his unhurt shoulder.

"But…" the musketeer opposes again, but he gives up after just one word. He feels dizzy, his skin cold and clammy, and he knows it's either stopping the wounds from bleeding or pass out for good. With a sigh he adjusts the by now fallen sheet on Aramis hips, then nods, letting Porthos passing an arm under his sane shoulder to help him walk. 

**

They're in a dark and dusty part of the ship, among the cargo and the rats, probably where Athos had hidden for days after finding out that Anne was alive, he isn't sure though, he doesn't recall a lot of those times. Only that he'd been in the only quiet place of the ship, same reason they had just chosen that once more. 

He's sitting, naked, on a crate, ruined shirt under him to mildly protect his backside from the rough wood. Porthos is kneeling on the floor near his leg. Probably, at some point in his life, Athos would have freaked out at the idea of being completely naked so close to someone else, but now…now he knows that a naked body in front of another soldier means nothing. Now he knows it's his soul he must protect. He had shown it bare to Anne, and years later that's the result. 

"Do you think Anne sent that ship?" he asks, flinching when the rag, then the needle, hit a particularly soft spot. Porthos sighs.

"I'm sorry, I don't really have an opinion on your dead wife who came back as a pirate," the other musketeer confesses with a laugh on his lips, "Sorry, Athos, really but…"

"Sounds more like a tavern story than the life of a Comte," the man finishes for him, with a little laugh of his own. He can't deny that, if his heart wouldn’t have been reduced to ashes, the thing has some humor in it. The dark kind he'd always appreciated, "what of our dear Pirate Captain Aramis, then? Do you have an opinion on him?" he asks in a hiss, trying to keep his mind away from the fact that his muscle is being sewed and that he can't even drink to take the edge off. 

"I think he's a pirate," Porthos answers, frowning in concentration while working on the bad wound, "but I used to pickpocket nobles, who am I to judge, right?" 

"Well, you've always been far more than a petty thief, you're a musketeer in your heart, everyone knows that," another hiss, more pain, and Athos starts to wonder if he'll be able to walk on that leg in the next days. 

"All right, I think he's not bad for a pirate and I'm starting to suspect there's a lot more behind him and his choice to take up such a life. I talked to him while you were drinking your pain off and it's like…something bigger than him that moves him to make his choices," Porthos stops, cutting the yarn with a small knife and sighing almost louder than Athos, "but it's not my attention he got, uh?" 

For a moment Athos glares at him, at the soft and warm cloth cleaning his wound for the last time.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, he just saved my life, I'm just grateful."

"Athos, do you think I'm dumb or blind?" Porthos asks mildly upset while moving to check on the wounded shoulder, "We eat together, sleep together, fight together for years now, do you really think I never noticed that it's not only cute maids that get your stares?" and at this Athos feels the little blood he still has in his veins rush toward his face. He isn't one to blush, but he has to admit he had never gotten something of that importance just told to him like it was the most normal thing. 

"I don't…" but he stops. Porthos is his best friend and his family, and he's there, on his knees, attending to his wounds on a ship he hates just to be with him. Porthos had been into slavery because of him. He can't lie to him while both know what the truth is, "a man or two may have caught my eyes, still you should be more worried and angry to hear that," he tries, careful, and Porthos laughs. 

"Athos, I've known you for so long and I love you so much I wouldn't flinch seeing you killing kittens, do you really think I'd judge your stare on a few pert bottoms? Still, the bottom that got your eyes now seems to be the Captain's. You don't think you're being subtle about that, right?" 

"I don't need to be subtle because it isn't true!" Athos splutters, even more, blood reaches his face, "he's a pirate we have a deal with! And he happens to have just saved my life risking his!"

"And I saw you around men who got wounded to save you, you never lost your composure while waiting, and now, wailing like a kid? You like him, it's okay."

"I barely know him, and in case you didn't notice we're followed by my dead wife, and by a mysterious ship with a captain who seems to know Aramis a little too well," both their expressions suddenly changes, heads running ahead of them, to examine details they could have missed but that they can't grab yet. 

"It was personal and still casual, I think," Athos starts to comment, ignoring the pain of the needle in his shoulder, "it's been like they haven't met in years and didn't expect to, and there was hate, I could feel it," he stops, hissing at a stab of pain and looking at his shoulder. Still bleeding, still far from being patched up. 

"I don't know your wife, but from what I saw it didn't look like something she could have planned," Porthos offers him with a smile of sympathy while stabbing him with the needle once more.

"No, no. It's something different and more dangerous. Men like that you don't meet often outside of a prison." 

"Maybe it's exactly where Aramis met him," Porthos observes before frowning, "You won't fight with that arm for a while, whoever he is he did a number on it," Athos sighs, too tired to worry.

"I can fight with both arms, I'll manage. No, I'm pretty sure Aramis was never in prison," he jumps from a subject to the other, something he knows gives on Porthos' nerves but that when he's nervous too he can't help, "I can't see him hurting or robbing for the sake of it, and we know no one ever caught him for being a pirate."

"Right he wouldn't have survived with that pretty face," Porthos replies, laughing at Athos raised eyebrow and stare, "what if the man is from before he became a pirate?" They both still for a moment. 

"Aramis didn't recognize him at first as if it's been a long time since he met him like the man got older and different," every piece took its place in Athos mind. That explanation makes sense, but if the attack was casual and only after the two men met it became personal, it means that now their ship probably is the man's new target, "Suddenly Anne doesn't seem like the worst danger," Athos observes out loud, knowing by now Porthos surely has come to the same conclusion. His friend nods, finally throwing the needle and knife on a crate near them and sitting on the verge of it. 

Athos rolls his shoulder, testing it and flinching when he reached the top of what he could do. He definitely isn't fighting with that arm for a while. 

"If it's like that we can expect a new attack soon, now that it became personal," he says while smiling at Porthos his thanks. The man nods, he looks as tired and worried as much as Athos feels, both frustrated by their situation and how bad things had gone during the fight. It's Porthos who give voices to their worries. 

"The ship is without a captain and half the crew is somehow hurt, if they'll attack now…"

"No, we gave as much as we took, they're in no shape. But it's Anne who worries me right now. If she hears about our condition…" he hesitates, there's only one thing that really scares him far more than death, "I'll take Aramis place while he heals," he says in a tone that leaves no space for objections, because Aramis is going to heal, he's sure, "we'll wait for Serge to find us a safe harbour then…" he closes his eyes with a sigh and Porthos nudges his leg with a foot, as if to comfort him, "I'll try and get a meeting with Anne," he says almost in a rush, and when Porthos opens his mouth to comment he just shakes his head. He knows it's his worst idea ever, but he also knows it probably is the only one to keep the others safe. Athos doubts he'll be so lucky himself, but when talking about Anne safety and control aren't something that matter.

Ignoring Porthos' sigh Athos covers his own face with a hand, letting himself fall back to lean against some stacked crates.

**Author's Note:**

> Will update at the end of the week, friday-sunday, depends on work ;)


End file.
